2 The Island, part I
by EllieMP
Summary: Sequel to 'The White Ball'. Everything Peter has ever learned, both as a cop and a priest, is put to the test when he goes to a no-coming-back mission. It's not just a tournament . There he fights like never before, meets old and new acquaintances and makes horrifying discoveries. Also, expecting to lose his life, Peter finds himself completely unprepared for losing his heart.
1. PROLOGUE

_Notes:_

The 2nd episode of my post-Requiem series starts here. I'm dividing it in two parts first, because it came too long and we all know it can be tough to read straight through to stories longer than 20 000 words, and second, because this piece proved difficult to write, especially the fights, and I'm simply not done with it yet.

ATTENTION! This is a very violent story, this first part in particular. Lots of fights for the next few chapters. Lots of broken necks and other bones. Be warned!

- The fights are diligently inspired from the movies 'Fist of Legend' and 'The White Crane Chronicles', as well as the author's imagination.

Note: I have sought inspiration from other places for some character descriptions used in the Prologue and in the Epilogue. No copyright infringement intended!

* * *

_And in the end, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you MY take of Peter Caine, which is quite different from his 'classic' fan fiction image. He's a former cop. He's tough, though he also has issues, result of his troubled life, and he's dealing with them on a daily basis. But he's also a Shaolin, and he kicks butt. A lot. _

* * *

PROLOGUE

_San Francisco, California, 1964_

The door opened with a bang and a young woman fled out. Two men were after her. The older one was anxious; he was almost running, trying to get hold of the determined girl ahead of him. The other one, in his mid-20s, was more dragging along. This was becoming humiliating for him, and he didn't intend to tolerate the insult any longer.

'Wait right there!'

'Try and stop me.'

'You will not defy me!'

She turned abruptly and gave him a proud, piercing look.

'You're nothing for me, even if misfortune has made you my uncle.'

The man came closer and slapped her through the face.

'The State has made me your father.'

Being well accustomed to much heavier beating, the woman smiled victoriously and with head up, continued her way out of this cursed place.

'Try… and stop me.'

The older man intended to do that when the younger reached him.

'May I know what's going on?'

'I'm really sorry, Thomas, this is only a tantrum. It's her temper…'

'I see that temper leaving days before our engagement.'

'I promise, I'll bring her back.'

'And how do you plan to do that, Max?'

'Laura!' The older man was now running, severely hindered by his beer belly and the strong heat. 'Laura!'

The woman, around 19-20 years of age, had promised herself not to run. She regretted it the moment her uncle grabbed her arm. He was about to hit her again when a grip tight as a bench clamp grasped his hand and twisted it behind his back. The movement was so abrupt that Max had to fall to his knees to protect his arm from breaking. Next thing he felt was the press of a foot kicking him to the ground. The other man stopped, and stared amazed.

It was afternoon and the sun slowly heading west was shining right in their eyes. However both Max and his intended son-in-law distinguished the silhouette of a tall man with longish dark-brown hair and exotic features. He should not have been older than 30.

Laura had sought refuge behind the stranger's back. Thomas, her former almost-fiancé, reached to hit with his cane, but he didn't even realise how it passed in the hands of the tall stranger. He only heard it swinging in the air and then felt the deep sharp pain from the stick hitting the back of his hip. He, too, fell helpless to his knees. The stranger threw the stick and leaned over the older man.

'You'll forget about Laura, and leave her alone!'

He was furious, and threatening. Anyone witnessing the event would have thought that he was going to finish what he started, but he didn't. He only leaned for the second time over the stunned and quite scared men and said with a deep voice, 'That was _not_ a request.'

In that moment a red Pontiac arrived. The tall stranger and the young woman got inside it without turning back. A man in his late-40s, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, got out of the car to open the door for them. Then he turned towards Max and Thomas. They didn't say anything, only got up and tried to clean their modern and quite expensive suits. He made few steps, and stood still, with hands on his hips. He was a man in good physical shape, with broad arms and imposing posture, honed by his experience as a soldier. Without any further display his appearance seemed to make enough impression on the two gentlemen, and they didn't dare go any closer. When he made sure that his message had been understood clearly, the man went back to his car and left.

'I want my money back, Max.'

'L-let's not rush with it, shall we? ..Sh-she's young, restless…'

'She's not even your daughter.'

'In paper she is.'

'In paper I'm Cary Grant.'

'Thomas, be reasonable…'

'I was promised a prize, Max, a gorgeous wild beast with red fur. Turns out you don't even own the goods you're selling.'

'But...'

'Shhh… Max, Max… It's OK, it's OK. …Now, you've got 48 hours to give me my money back.'

'You'll be sorry for this!'

'Oh, _many_ people will be sorry for this, but I shan't be one of them.'

**X**

_34 years later_

Ketonna made few steps back, ever closer to the roof's edge. He tripped and fell. There wasn't a trace left of his confidence; the madness that made him feel invincible had melted, succumbing to unabashed fear. He was afraid of what he didn't understand, and the man standing in front of him was something beyond his comprehension. Such powerlessness he had felt only once before, when he was young, back in San Francisco…

He tried to defend but it was pointless. The tall man leaned and pulled him back to his feet, using only one hand. The enigmatic calmness his eyes had emanated for this past week was replaced by something wild and fierce.

The strong hand was holding Ketonna by the shirt so tight that he began feeling serious obstruction of air.

'Wh-who are you?' was all Ketonna managed to whisper.

The wild eyes came closer.

'You want to know who I am? ...I am Fate.'

'Wha…'

'Look at me. Look at my face… look at my eyes… Look at me!' growled the man. 'Haven't you seen them before?'

Ketonna's red, oily face was wet. He blinked through foggy eyes and explored the features which, indeed, seemed oddly familiar. But it was the gaze that finally spoke to him. He stared intently and gulped. Suddenly his eyes opened wide, then welled with tears.

'That's im…p-possible!'

The wild eyes grinned with an evil sparkle.

'Afraid it is,' came a quiet, deep voice. 'Your Fate has come for you, Thomas.'

'You're d-dead… You h-have to be,' coughed the criminal.

'That's right, I died twenty years ago. Wanna know how Hell looks like?'

Kettona tried to pull and kick, but the man only held him slightly further away. The laws of physics claimed this wasn't possible, yet Ketonna felt his feet slightly off the ground; the man had actually lifted him. With one hand. The realization was horrifying.

The man moved a little and then opened hand, allowing his victim to drop on the ground. Ketonna got quickly to his feet; he was coughing and trembling with the uncontrollable rush of adrenaline. He found himself holding the stranger's armband and automatically searched for the burned forearm that had been wrapped in it. Instead of severely burned flesh, however, he saw a hanging peeled layer of skin. A bright red mark was showing from bellow.

The wild eyes came closer.

'Look here, Thomas, magic.'

The man exposed his forearm and pulled sharply the whole layer. Ketonna gasped. His nightmares started rushing back, only this time they were real.

'No… No!'

'See this?'

Ketonna took a step back, the man followed. He spoke very low, very slowly, with deep, hoarse voice.

'It seems the Tiger and the Dragon have finally come to collect their dues. You will pay… for every… single life… you have ever ruined...'

'It's Doomsday, Thomas Ketonna!'

There was nothing Ketonna could do. He saw the man preparing his hand and quietly laughed at this naïve approach. He, in turn, prepared to welcome the punch.

But it was not meant to be punch in the face. The man took his time to condition his hand. The attack was short and impossibly fast. He landed in a dragon stance, and stumped his right fist in Ketonna's solar plexus. Sound of crushed bones blended with the gunshots and explosions echoing around them. The criminal didn't move, didn't blink. Stream of blood slid down his mouth and nose.

The punch was so powerful that the attacker's fist landed inside Ketonna's chest. The ribs caved in and pierced everything they were otherwise meant to protect, liver, lungs, heart… It had been a punch by one single man, but it carried the weight of hundreds of destroyed lives and countless tears.

The punch was for the dead.

For the scarred.

For his mother…

He sensed a presence and got up. From behind he heard the clicking of a loaded gun.

**XXX**


	2. Revelations

Part one: Revelations

_June 6_

'There we are.'

'This?'

'What did you expect, Boeing?'

'Well, something that will take off, for starters…'

'Kermit!'

'Moses…'

'Heheey… man, has it been long… No details, as usual?'

'No details, man, I can't.'

'I get it, I get it. …And, who's the young man?'

'I…'

'_Young man_ should suffice for now.'

'Kermit… You know you can trust me.'

'I know. We'll talk it over some day.'

'Keep that thought, Griffin. I'm looking forward to having you and Paul up in the lodge, have a drink, remember the olden days.'

'..Uhm..'

'What's with the face, young gun, afraid of flying?'

'N-no…'

'Nah, just teasing ya... Come on board... I've no doubt you're worth your while, hot shot, Blaisdell recruits nothing but the best for his A-team.'

'Flint!.. Can we get going?'

'Hop on, gentlemen, we'll be there before you know it.'

**X**

'Give me my gun.'

'Are you sure?...'

'The gun, old man!'

'There… You know there will be more arrivals.'

'This one fits the description.'

'What if he's just a fighter?'

'Who cares, he won't win, anyway. … Bring him in! I can't take any chances.'

'…W-what's going on?'

'So… Mr Boyle… Who sent you?'

'What do you mean?'

'Why are you here, to kill me? To collect data for somebody?'

'I thought this was a martial arts tournament…'

'It is. And you're a fucking mole.'

'I came here to fight.'

'But of course you did. You a cop?'

'That's none of your business.'

'Bad answer. … My file here says you're a cop, 75th, Sloanville. Bad one, too, I expected more clever reply from an undercover cop.'

'I'm not undercover. I came to compete. So what if I'm a cop, the rules don't say that cops aren't allowed.'

'Oh, how touching. You've got anything else to add?'

'No, wait, you're making a mis...'

…

'Lee!.. Clear that mess… And let the word out, if we're getting any other undercovers, they should know what awaits them.'

'Consider it done… sir.'

…

'OK, say it.'

'I don't think this man was any threat to you.'

'I got warned about an undercover coming tonight or tomorrow morning. They said Sloanville or the area.'

'The fact that the man who sends him is based there doesn't mean his fighter will be from there, too.'

'I know, old man.'

'What about his boss?'

'He's still up there, changing nappies from what I'm being told. By the time he brings his polished ass here, we'll be done.'

'Good. By the way, we got a new arrival this afternoon… Did you see him?'

'Who, the Chinese?'

'Aham.'

'Yeah, so?..'

'He's a Shaolin?'

'Not all Chinamen are Shaolin, damn it. And don't load your gun, you lost your mind? Look at him... There, monitor 2... Look, do you see any brands?'

'He doesn't need them.'

'Only _real_ Shaolin are a threat, OK?'

'He looks like he has completed the training.'

'Why, because of the shaved head? Leave him alone, OK? If he has Shaolin training he'll be a true pleasure to watch. As long as he doesn't have the brands, he's no threat to me.'

'The brands are only a symbol.'

'The brands are a whole other level. I have to be careful of actual priests only.'

'I think you have to be careful of _any_ Shaolin, branded or not.'

'I don't.'

'Because of that dream?'

'A dream of tigers and dragons is nothing unless a couple of shamans and astrologists independently warn you to beware of tigers and dragons.'

'This has nothing to do with astrology… Ah!..'

'Now, listen to me. Hundreds of millions are at stakes here. I've got far more important stuff to think about than you analysing me. Remember, you keep me sane, I keep you alive. Is that clear?'

'Yes…'

'Now, don't make me hit you again, it brings me no pleasure.'

'Excuse me...'

'Hudson, Dane, come here!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Check your areas, we're having more arrivals. Come down afterwards.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Lee… All done?'

'All clear, Mr Ketonna.'

'Good. Let's go, I can't miss the next fight.'

'Yes, sir.'

…

'Hey, Jake, do you know who's fighting?'

'It's Hao.'

'Wow, all right, let's hurry with the check then; _that_ fight I don' wanna miss.'

**X**

They were off to a rocky start, in every sense of the word. Heavy turbulence caught them almost from the very take-off, the plane being quite small definitely added to it. The atmosphere inside was not better. Peter was wondering whether to punch first, and then ask the questions; Kermit was puzzled if he should start talking immediately, or whether silence was not the best choice at the moment.

When the belt-on signal finally went off, Peter unbuttoned his and glared threatening at Kermit. The look gave the detective chills. He felt deeply grateful that his friend had made some significant progress towards putting on a leash the dormant volcano that was his temper. But he was also aware that right now he was very close to becoming the first witness to a Shaolin priest gone berserk… and probably the last.

'I have to say something, right?'

'You better… And make it good!'

Kermit sighed. 'You… you weren't supposed to learn that Paul's somehow involved, not just yet.'

'This much I figured… Why?'

'The toilet's behind us. Go look in the mirror to see why.'

'Kermit…'

'Peter, control yourself! I'm serious.'

Peter sat back.

'If in a few hours they say that you have a welcome-home fight, you're dead. You can't take the toy out of a baby in this state of mind.'

The Shaolin sighed; he hated when Kermit was right.

'I don't like keeping secrets from you… You were... are going to learn everything… in time.'

'You sound like my father.'

'Well, maybe I'm beginning to understand him.'

Peter lifted an eyebrow. Since when has Kermit Griffin begun to understand what Shambhala masters did and why they did it?

'Emotions make you lose concentration. You lose concentration, you lose your life.'

'Tell me about Paul.'

Lollipops; Kermit started imagining lollipops.

And bunnies…

Then naked chicks… doing river-dance. Naked chicks doing river-dance, now that's a vision.

'Kermit… wh…'

It was working.

'Paul…' More naked chicks. And Asians.

'We've worked with Flint before.'

Naked Asians river-dancing. Oh, yeah.

'Any time we used his services afterwards…' River-dancing in a circle. '…He'd call the other one to double check the operation was legit.' In a circle around him. Mommy…

'Kermit… uhm..'

Tightening the circle. Closer… 'Paul had no idea you were involved…' And closer… '…when he gave Moses green light for the mission.'

'Kermit!'

'Mmm?'

'I don't know what's happening in that head of yours but... uhm.. Perhaps _you_ may want to visit the toilet?'

Kermit realized something and unnerved crossed his legs. Right, no more naked Asians, back to lollipops…

'So, does Paul know?...'

Pink lollipops. And cotton-candy.

'Yes, I'm afraid.'

Everything is pink. Pink is good.

'But Annie doesn't.'

Bubble gum. Pink bubble gum. Hubba bubba?

'OK, OK… Kermit, are you all right?'

'Are you?'

'I was going to feel better if Paul didn't know about it.'

'So would I.'

'But as long as Mom doesn't know, I'm good… Kermit?'

More gum, more gum. Bubbles, bubbles, pink bubbles, strawberries...

'Yes?'

Strawberry Hubba bubba…

'Your chi feels weird.'

'I feel good, actually. Great.'

'OK... I feel better, too...'

'You sure?'

'Totally. Can we get to talk work now?'

'As you say, kid.'

Kermit relaxed head on the back of the seat and almost groaned. He was all wet and shivering with the effort, but it worked. So that's how you keep your thoughts hidden from a Shaolin priest... from a young, still not quite experienced Shaolin. The older one would never buy it.

Bubble gum?

**X**

'Well, any questions?'

'Thousands… Oh, you mean the case…' Another failed attempt by Peter Caine to be funny. 'OK, OK, just don't give me that look. …Say, why the nickname _C4_?'

'He's an explosives specialist, C4 is his favourite.'

'Good to know. Uhm, Kermit, do _I_ look like an explosives specialist to you?'

'You've seen how Steadman works, use him as a reference.'

'Right…'

'Nobody cares about your explosives there. It's the fighting that matters, and C4 is one mean fighter.'

'I'll remember that. Now, wouldn't Mr Collin Keenan be upset that I'm stealing his identity?'

'He might be. But he won't be back to look for it, unless he's found a replacement for the grey matter I personally blew out of his head.'

Peter re-sat his position unnerved. Kermit didn't speak often about his mercenary years, and those last words reminded his younger friend that the enigmatic computer geek once used to kill people for a living.

'That's one worry less.'

'I thought so, too.'

'Tell me about the make-up… I…I'm not sure it will work, Kermi.'

'Nor am I but it's our best shot.'

Peter was going to cover his brands with water proof, body-colour paint. Then he would apply very real-like layers of additional skin that should mimic heavy burns. On top he would wear normal sport arm bands. Still, chances for getting away with that were pretty slim.

The young priest was playing with his 'make-up' when he realized that over the past half hour Kermit had grown silent; he felt like he was thousands of miles away. The young priest tried to figure it out instead of asking, and almost miraculously it hit him that today was a day Kermit would have rather spent in a more… tranquil manner.

Peter remembered their stormy trip to Florida two years ago. There was something he wanted to tell Kermit back then but never got the courage. Now was a good moment for revelations.

'Kermit… I…' He gulped. 'I'm sorry!'

'About what exactly?'

'I… uhm… Today… today is June 6th…'

'So I know,' said Kermit with an ice cold voice and turned head away from Peter.

'Well, I'm really sorry. I really am!'

'What the hell are you talking about? You've got nothing to do with David's death.'

'I don't but…' Peter ran fingers through his hair. Shaolin or not, he could still feel nervousness. 'I'm alive and… Yeah, I'm sorry.'

Now Kermit's full attention was fixated on Peter.

'You're sorry you're alive? Well, you'll have plenty of chances to fix that over the next couple of days.'

Kermit had no idea what Peter was talking about but he detected guilt, and he hated it when the kid felt personally responsible for all the shit happening in the world.

'Yeah, true…'

'Do you want to tell me why you feel so guilty that he's dead and you're not? Because he was a cop, too?'

'Because I should've been dead, too,' snapped Peter. 'I could have been…'

When that night Kermit had spoken about the way his brother was killed, it brought back painful images for both father and son Caine. The ex-mercenary couldn't have seen the brief look of understanding the two men shared, the guilt in Peter's eyes. He never detected the chills that ran through their bodies at the awake of that evening, when only days after their reunion they could have been separated again, this time forever.

For Peter those were blurred voices and scenes; for Caine they were vivid, heavy memories.

'Well, I saved your life a couple of times… You returned the favour… a couple of times... I never saved my brother's life. Why should _you_ feel guilty?'

'You were still a part-time mercenary then…'

'When?'

'When my father… When Tan was driven out of the city.'

'When you and your father were reunited?'

'Aham.'

'So?...'

'Well, in short, a lot of scum wanted to take Tan's place, Clarence Choi being one of them. But I was in his way. So it took…' Peter inhaled. '…The attempt took a couple of corrupt cops, an abandoned factory… and an over-dose of heroin in my body.'

'What happened?' asked Kermit, very, very quietly.

Peter looked at him with tearful eyes. 'Something I had that David didn't.'

'A guardian angel,' guessed Kermit.

The detective remained still but Peter couldn't look at him. Much of that night was lost to him but what he remembered best was his anger. He had no right…

Kermit spoke first.

'I had no idea, Pete.'

He just wanted to make Peter feel comfortable and speak about it, because the man with the green glasses was convinced that there was more to it than just guilt. With Peter there was always more.

'I was so angry.' Peter still had his back on Kermit. 'He wouldn't stop, he would follow me everywhere… He… He found me, took me to the burned building, gave me herbs that neutralised the poison…' Peter ran fingers through his hair again and Kermit heard a sob. 'And I was so angry at him.' The priest massaged his eyes. 'He should've left me; I didn't deserve this…'

'OK, OK, that's enough.' The last thing Kermit needed was Peter going suicidal now.

Kermit kept quiet for a moment and then continued.

'Do you want to tell me what _really_ is going on?'

Peter closed eyes and relaxed on his seat.

'I guess Pop and I… broke up.'

Kermit chuckled. 'Right.' Peter glared at him with anguish and the cop's smile froze. 'Why?'

'He told me not to 'call' him anymore, then I snapped… It got pretty ugly.'

'I guess he gave you no reason?'

'Kermit, in my life I do NOT remember my father ever giving me reason for his actions. With him it's either personal, or I'm not ready to know…'

Ah, so that's what it is…

'So, no, he didn't.' Peter stopped and took a breath.

'Pete…' Peter looked back. '…I'm glad you're alive, kid.'

This said Kermit stretched arm towards his friend. Peter reached out and grabbed it eagerly; he was close to burst into tears.

Ever since his father left, Peter Caine lived with the same feeling one has when being on a boat in a very stormy sea – that the boat will inevitably turn and he will drown any moment now. This feeling never really left him, only that every time he felt like this during the last year and a half, he found a firm hand reaching out for him, making sure he would stay afloat. Now that hand had come to the rescue again.

**X**

_'You can't do that!'_

'Sure I can.'

_'I need those men. I c-can't do anything otherwise.'_

'They'll be back at your disposal once the tournament is over.'

_'That's ridiculous. What difference would it make?'_

'Huge! …Heh, Walt, my friend, I'm sure you can manage without them for a while, ha?'

_'I need to keep searching.'_

'Europe is a small place, Walter, you don't need my people for finding one woman.'

_'I'm not even sure she's still in Europe. I need the money…'_

'_Once_ the tournament is over.'

_'You…'_

'Walt, you don't want to make me angry, do you, Walt?'

_'…. No….'_

'Good. Now, keep quiet for a week or two, and once we're done here, my little army will be back up there, OK?'

_'OK.'_

'Remember, _I_ want to find her just as much as you do. I miss the feel of that skin…'

_'Oh, spare me that.'_

The connection broke. Thomas Ketonna leaned content on his chair and curiously explored the chief of his security, David Lee.

'Pretty girl,' said Lee, looking at a photo of a very young woman. She looked tall and slender, leaning on a tree, smiling. She had beautiful smile, hazel eyes and wavy, long, red hair.

'What can I say, I have taste for… pretty things. This particular item is one of the priciest in my collection.'

'A wife?'

'A traitor.'

Ketonna explained, following Lee's puzzled look. 'I didn't gain much from her, apart from some short-lived pleasure, but she got what she deserved.'

Lee smiled vaguely. 'I admit your taste… in women, Mr Ketonna.'

'Thank you, Lee! …What's happening in the village?'

'Everything's going according to plan, no further intruders. We have to go back to the mainland, sir, you don't want to miss Hao fighting?'

'Of course not. Hey, I can't wait to add him to my marital artists collection. He'll be the gem in my crown.'

'He has to win first, or at least rank amongst the top ten.'

'Lee… Do you see anybody, but _anybody,_ that can possibly stop Don Hao?'

**XXX**


	3. Land

_Notes: _

underline – indicates speech in Spanish

**bold **– indicates Chinese dialects

(valid for all chapters to follow)

* * *

Land

The voice sounded muffled through the speaker system.

'Landing in ten minutes, gentlemen!'

The two men tightened their belts.

'You nervous?' asked Kermit.

'Would it bother you if I said _yes_?'

'It would remind me you're human.'

They both laughed and then each looked through his window. Neither of them was big on good-byes.

'Shall we revise the plan?'

'Kermit, we did that three times. And if I'm not mistaken, the only certain thing is that once we're on the Island, it's all in God's hands.'

'Well, I hardly deserve such praise, but thank you anyway.'

Peter chuckled. He loved his friend's humour, especially in a tough moment.

'The good news is that I'll be coordinating it with Woodword alone. He won't let a needle fall on that island before his man retrieves Ketonna's files, and destroys the data base.'

'Have they sent a hacker?'

'Don't know, kid. But he better does the job right; I haven't sweat over the damn virus for nothing.'

'_You_ created the virus?'

Kermit Griffin is a man of many talents, thought Peter.

'Oh, yeah!'

Kermit's voice drowned in the noise from the contact between the machine and the ground. They landed on a clearing inside the jungle, far away from any form of civilization. Kermit had only said that they have been there before, and Peter was wise enough not to ask further. He somehow figured that this is where they use the motorbikes the plane was loaded with.

Peter got out first. Here they were, Mexico! He took some time to look around and feel the vibration of the place. The air was soaked with heat and humidity. Heavy smell of greenery and mould hit the young priest's senses. He didn't recognise any of the flora around, and he definitely didn't look forward to the inevitable acquaintance with the local fauna.

'Waky waky, pretty boy!'

Flint's voice seemed to come from very far away, and Peter followed the tall blond man on auto-pilot. Flint gave him a pair of gloves and night-vision goggles. The sun was off sight already and they couldn't take any chances; they would ride to Veracruz without lights on, dump the bikes somewhere and attempt not to leave any DNA.

'How are you holding?' asked Kermit almost with a hint of worry.

'I'm not exactly a rooky, Kermit,' came Peter's dry response while he was settling on his machine.

Flint observed the two men. The boy, because to him Peter was just a boy, he hadn't seen before. He had youthful face, and Flint could swear the kid seemed better fit for the cover of some girly magazine rather than for mercenary. But the old wolf knew looks are deceiving. The man's walk and especially that imposing back revealed the physical shape of someone not to be trifled with; his grip was firm, and the few marks on the patches of exposed skin he spotted, undoubtedly belonged to someone well familiar with the blazing touch of metal on his flesh.

And Kermit looked… concerned? Moses Flint had never seen Griffin worried about anything, even when they had been surrounded by those Zulus… Never mind.

Flint closed the plane's back door.

'Well, guys, so long.'

'It was nice seeing you, Mos.'

'Likewise, Kermit. Nice meeting you, kid!' Peter nodded. 'How you're coming back?'

The men on the bikes exchanged a meaningful look. There was no answer to that question.

Kermit put his goggles on and started the engine. 'In case we _do_ come back…, it will be at Uncle Sam's expense.'

Moses nodded and waved at his passengers. Then with a sigh he headed to his plane. He had about half an hour for a quick breakfast and to re-fill his engines before the last rays of daylight were gone. He wanted to be home before the game.

**X**

Peter had never thought that one can drive with 60 km/h through the Mexican jungle… on a bike. At least that was the speed he had to maintain in order not to lose Kermit off sight.

He didn't know if it was excitement or panic that he felt when at last they arrived on the top of a hill. Neither went off his bike, Kermit only pointed East and Peter saw it: at the bottom of a valley slightly north he could distinguish the lights of Veracruz. Down, right below them, were few villages. The brightest lights, however, came from a spot right by the darkness of the water, and then further inside the sea they saw more lights. The latter undoubtedly came from Thomas Ketonna's island. The bright lights that were nearest to the water were the village they were headed for – the tournament's arena.

Kermit made few seemingly unintelligible moves with his arm and threw himself straight down the hill, soon disappearing off sight. For a second Peter was stunned. His friend had probably done this hundreds of times; he was cool and self-controlled… and drove that bike like he had been doing it all his life.

After a deep breath Peter continued down the road. No good-bye, no 'good luck'; next time they would meet each other, if at all, would be when all this was over. Now Peter was headed for a crossroad that was supposed to be few miles down. He would take a bus to the coastal village and pretend he just came from the plane. His travelling bag even had an airport tag. Apparently Mr Colin Keenan had entered Mexico with a completely legit flight from Johannesburg; he even had tickets.

**X**

The past few days have been a celebration for the whole area. People from all over were coming for the tournament, and the locals, though a bit reserved at first, had to admit that for ten days with the tournament they earned more than for half a year with fishing and farming. Each house opened its doors for visitors. Each family had a stall in the centre offering everything imaginable – from home-made tequila that was equally fit for drink and disinfectant, to music instruments and furniture. Garlands of colourful lights were hung above the streets, marking the glorious road from the village main points, such as the bus-stop and the church, to the Arena.

Loud celebrations under the joyful music of mariachi bands would continue until past midnight, usually long after the last fight for the day was over. The fighters themselves were accommodated at the Municipality, a beautiful building from late 19th century, recently proclaimed Cultural Heritage. Especially for the tournament a tall fence was erected making sure that all access to the temporary hotel and the whole Arena area would be cut off. If one wanted an unrestricted access to the place, however, all one needed to do was sign in for the tournament; everybody was welcome.

The Arena was preparing for the last round of fights. Enthusiastic crowds were headed for the seats. There had been one hour break for dinner, and after countless portions of paella and nachos, and tens of litres of beer and tequila, the competition was ready to continue.

A group of sweaty and slightly drunk gringos was still hanging around the alcohol-selling corner. They were just laughing at a vulgar joke when a tanned, moustached man joined them.

'That was a good one, amigo, here, have some. Cheers, amigos!'

He passed few bottles of beer and then hugged two of the men. Everyone is a friend during fiesta, and the jolly group couldn't care less that they accepted alcohol from a total stranger.

'I'm Jorge… Jorge, yes. Cheers... Hehe, swell party, eh?'

By the time they entered the Arena, the stranger had become brother.

**X**

A small crowd left the bus when it stopped by the big clock tower in the centre. Most of the people hurried ahead. They were busy with lively conversations, jokes and predictions. Only one silent man with serious expression didn't seem touched by the enthusiasm. It was partly due to him having troubles to revise those pesky Spanish lessons from school.

The group before him took their time at the entrance. Some of them already had tickets, others were paying just now. He knew he didn't need to pay; the 'Open Sesame' he was going to use would grant him immediate access to Ali Baba's cave, and one with a front view, too.

The guards let him in on the spot. He was to walk down a side corridor away from the entrance for the audience, where he would be picked by another guard. He nodded and walked away without uttering a sound; he moved proud, convincingly pretending he took no notice of the surveillance cameras the place was clad with

**X**

The radio called.

_'New arrival, chief, region 2. Send a man. End.'_

'Thought we were done with the arrivals,' murmured a very annoyed David Lee and went to check the Region 2 monitor.

'The boss said from tomorrow,' responded Rob Campos and took his station. 'Hudson, you free?'

_'Confirmed.'_

'New arrival, Region 2, go pick him. There's one last room in your area, take him there and let him know his first match is in 30 minutes.'

'_So soon?'_

'Orders, kid.'

_'Clear. End.'_

Roberto Campos had won fourth place at the tournament three years ago. His good judgement made him rise to Assistant Chief of Security; with no access to the outside world it hadn't been that difficult. All he knew was that somewhere on the outside he had a daughter who was to turn 3 next month.

'….coffee.'

'Pardon?'

'Campos, you here?'

'Yes, boss, sorry.'

'Go get me coffee. And get yourself one, too.'

'Yes, boss.'

Campos left and his chief remained alone. The tall Chinese man nested in front of the screen and observed soldier Hudson walk to the newcomer and show him to the residential area. A sly smile spread on his face.

'Well, well, well… The stakes just got higher.'

He chuckled.

'So, the boy wants to stand with the men, ha?' Then he got up and started checking the other monitors. 'Now, let see when Daddy's going to turn up….'

**XXX**


	4. Enter the Crane

Enter the Crane

Another month, another year… Who's counting? Jake Hudson surely wasn't. He stopped doing so days after he won the 3rd place of that same tournament; in that moment when Thomas Ketonna showed him how the truck that almost ran over his little sister might as well hit the target next time. As long as Jake was a good boy, there would be no 'next time' and his family would be socially secure.

Now he had to go escort another fighter to the living quarters, another mouse into the trap, lured with some juicy, full-fat cheese. He would walk the poor guy to the building and recite the same speech all over again. How many times had he done that already? He didn't remember. He was doing a routine, like a robot. But without feelings, without thoughts, and the most horrific of it all – without willpower, he was as good as a robot. And if the new guy was really lucky, he would be an average fighter, and he would leave here safe and sound. As long as fate didn't put him in Hao's way first, of course.

Jake was walking down the corridor. Just by the corner he almost stumbled, and he was infinitely grateful that the nearest camera remained in his back; his shocked gaze was visible only to the newcomer he was picking.

'Peter…'

The man opposite welcomed him with a cold, expressionless face. He acted like they have never met before.

The man stretched hand. 'Hi, I'm Collin Keenan, I guess you're escorting me to my room?'

Jake was petrified; his mouth half open, he didn't know what to do. The man opposite changed the tone.

'For Heaven's sake, grab my hand and take me to wherever it is I have to go,' hissed Peter.

'H-hi… You said... who are you again?'

'Collin… Keenan,' replied Peter as he levelled with Jake and they walked away. 'That's MY… name. Will you remember it, or I have to write it down for you?'

Jake was sobering up from the initial shock; very quickly he realised that this hard-faced, enigmatic man probably had little to do with the impulsive, hot-headed cop he met five and a half years ago. A strange game was on, and he figured he might as well join in.

Fortunately, you don't start from nothing and turn into Bruce Lee in five years. Peter's heroic mission would probably be over in less than 24 hours, this evening even, if the cop was lucky. Nothing to worry about.

After a minute in the improvised corridor they were in the open air again, and Jake led the way to the Municipality. Demonstratively he was waving hands and speaking loud, as if he wanted everyone around to know that he was filling in a new arrival, one he was seeing for the first time.

'You'll take the same route to go to the Arena; there's always going to be someone with you anyway.'

'To make sure I won't get lost?'

Jake chuckled.

Two stories further they were heading for a room at the bottom of a hall. There were no cameras here, and Peter got even more alert. Ketonna would hardly allow himself the luxury to leave the one place something might go wrong in unsupervised.

Before unlocking the room Jake called for a time-out.

'What the Hell are you doing here?' he whispered.

'I came to pick you up,' answered Peter with calmness that bewildered Jake further.

'This is serious business, Peter. These are the best fighters in the damn wide world; you've no idea what you're walking into. They'll kill you!'

Jake took a breath.

'Nobody leaves this place, at least not alive.'

'How 'bout _everybody_?'

The younger man shook head. 'You're insane.'

'I rest my case,' sighed Peter. 'Can I get into my room, Mr Hudson?'

Jake unlocked and answered in a louder voice.

'Call me Jake.'

Peter sensed the heat immediately. He had no idea he could detect that until he was confronted by it.

The young priest walked around. A ball of heat was coming from the bedside table; much stronger one – from just below the lamp. He visited the bathroom; a mild heated area could be sensed by the door hanger. Peter grinned and came back to Jake. He was proud with himself. Two microphones and a hidden camera, all sensed without even concentrating. He wondered what other mysterious talents he didn't know he had.

'Anything else I need to know, Jake?'

'Yes.' Jake checked his watch. 'You're on the ring in 15 minutes.'

'And entrance with a bang, ha.'

'That's how Mr Ketonna likes it.'

Ass-licker, thought Peter. But if you're afraid as hell, you're entitled to some weakness.

'Who do I fight?'

'Whoever needs the points. The rules will be explained to you, and whatever changes occur you'll know in the beginning of each day. That's… as long as you're here.'

Peter moved. The vain part of him could barely wait to show the little guy just how far he had gone with his martial arts.

'All right. Thank you!'

'I'll see you down. Good luck, Mr Keenan!'

Peter nodded and set to unpack as soon as the door closed. He was grateful Ketonna had had the decency not to put cameras in the bathroom.

**X**

'Jaky… Jaky boy, what's new? Report!'

Ketonna was in a mood tonight, and in such cases he could appear almost pleasing.

'The new guy will be out in 10 minutes, sir.'

'Good, good.'

Campos was standing behind his boss. 'What's his name?'

'Collin Keenan.'

'C4?'

'Collin…' Chief of Security David Lee was amused. 'Nice name,' he muffled.

'You know him, Rob?'

'I've heard of him.'

Before ending as part of Ketonna's scheme to take over the world, Rob Campos was a police officer in Mexico City. C4 was famous not only for his fighting, but also for his preference for good drugs, good money and good sex, usually provided by both genders.

'He's a mercenary, drug dealer, too. Everybody thinks he was killed somewhere in China.'

'Well…,' chuckled Ketonna, 'seems very much alive to me. Go check him out, Rob, see what you can find about him.'

Campos nodded and left the place. It would have been reasonable at least to wait and see if this Keenan guy was worth the effort, but Rob had learned the hard way you never _ever_ contradict Thomas R.I.P. Ketonna.

'What's your impression, Hudson?'

'M-mine?'

'Yeah. If you had to face him… How long do you think he can make it?'

Jake inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. There was no need to worry; Peter should be out of there in no time.

'Frankly, sir, he'll be lucky to leave alive. I could beat him in my sleep.'

Lee nodded.

'I have to agree with Jake, sir. This Collin-what's-his-name doesn't stand a chance.'

'Guys, guys… Man, you're mean,' grinned Ketonna and nested in his seat. 'Ah, speaking of the devil…' He pointed towards the arena. 'Looks in a good shape, at least... Who is he fighting again?'

Lee checked the list and smiled devilishly. 'Burchard.'

'The French kick-boxing champion? Excellent!'

'He's dead,' hummed Jake and moved away.

Ketonna took a handful of popcorn. 'Let's enjoy the show, shall we?'

**X**

Down by the ring one of the guards was explaining the rules.

A fighter loses the battle if he falls off the broad, one-and-a-half metre tall circular arena; or if he is knocked unconscious. Or killed. If both fighters stand after 7 minutes, the match is called a draw and both are allowed to continue. A fighter is 'assigned' a match at least one game before his turn; until then he, or she, is allowed to challenge whoever he chooses. The amount of points distributed depends on the amount of time a fighter uses to win his battle; the faster the win, the more the points. The two fighters with the smallest number of points would 'close' each day.

Ketonna's tournament was survival of the fittest applied in full.

Peter listened carefully. It seemed weird that a tournament with so elaborate rules tolerates killing. He skimmed through the room. Each participant had his place in the first two rows around the arena. He wasn't to be given a seat yet; he had to earn it. While the rules were being clarified, Peter's opponent started warming up.

Marc Burchard was three consecutive times French kick-boxing champion; two times world champion; ten times champion of Europe. Unbeaten in his category, the tall, dark-haired man appeared only in black shorts and black armbands, beaming with confidence and arrogance. This wasn't the last fight for the day, and Burhcard was by no means amongst the 'losers'. He didn't mind knocking out a new-comer, and demonstratively started jumping around to warm up and show off his good physical shape.

Absently Peter checked his armbands and slowly climbed up the platform. He was concentrated. The world outside this village, outside the white circle even, had ceased to matter. He completely distanced himself from the audience, too; he couldn't care less about it. All of his attention was on his opponent. The kick-boxer was even barefoot, which Peter thought sweet. Himself, he wore all black – black top, black sports trousers and black sneakers with soft soles.

Up on the arena Peter found himself calmer than he thought he would be. His face made the best poker player look like a nervous wreck. His breathing was even, calm. Most people probably felt more excited when entering the supermarket.

The bell rang, announcing the beginning of the match.

Burchard approached Peter and threateningly kept jumping around. At that moment what Peter feared most was that he might get dizzy by the kick-boxer's liveliness. Once upon a time Peter would have done the same, moving around when fighting someone, but kung fu trainees don't jump. They usually sneer at their too-mobile opponents while looking for the gap, firmly rooted to the ground.

The kick-boxer started sending trial punches at Peter, testing him. All Peter did was to observe, almost completely still. His hands were resting on the hips, visibly relaxed when in fact they were ready to react faster than a cobra if necessary. All Peter did was to lean calmly either to the left, or to the right, enough to avoid the, what he considered, extremely slow, clumsy and inaccurate punches.

Peter couldn't help but smile pitifully at the poor guy. A kung fu master could never understand why this waste of energy. In his up-and-down jumps the kick-boxer offered so many opportunities for Peter to attack and do damage, that the young Shaolin didn't know where to begin.

After about 30-40 seconds Peter decided to have mercy.

'Enough with you,' he murmured and made deceiving move with his body luring his opponent to send a right kick at him. Such a kick was a bad, bad decision, particularly when your opponent is a Shaolin who also happens to be a leftie.

It was all Peter wanted. As soon the leg came in his range, it was tightly locked by Peter's left hand. His right leg swept the ground under his opponent's left leg and the man fell. With his free arm Peter grabbed the other leg. The next thing he did was simply to start spinning around. After a full circle Peter released the shocked Burchard. The man helplessly flew off the platform, landing somewhere between the first row and the stairs.

**X**

For a moment the place was as still as a tomb. Even the loud group of men from the village that entered earlier was quiet; their new friend Jorge was just as stunned as the rest. Marc Burchard had been there since the very beginning of the tournament and the truth was, he was amongst the hot favourites to enter the top ten. Now, it wasn't so much the way he lost the fight, if it could be called a fight at all, but rather the fact that he lost by a new-comer, a man nobody knew anything about. The man had travelled probably all day, he was perhaps hungry and tired, and now just walked into the Arena and threw Burchard out of it like he was a garbage bag.

Briefly Peter observed the assistance his opponent got. He hoped he hadn't hurt him too much. Only minutes here, and the Shaolin already knew the place lurked with murderers and other criminals who begged to be put to their places. But Burchard wasn't one of them, he was just an athlete, and Peter would hate to have him pay for others' sins.

Supported by two paramedics the kick-boxer left limping. Upon leaving he shot a look at Peter. There was fear in that look, confusion, shock, and above all, a loud 'Who are you' question.

Peter tried to remain untouched and calmly left the ring. With a win that took him less than a minute he was awarded points most fighters didn't collect after three, even four fights. The same assistant who had explained the rules to Peter was now telling him that tomorrow he would have his seat amongst the other fighters, and that now he could go and have rest. Dinner would wait for him in the room, and fights the next day wouldn't commence before 11 am, Don Ketonna's curtsey to the end of the preliminaries and the official beginning of the actual tournament.

Peter was still on the ring when loud snigger came from the lounge situated a level higher and completely invisible from the arena. Quickly the contagious sound spread like a virus and the whole place, audience and fighters alike, burst out laughing and eventually applauding what became undoubtedly the fastest and funniest match so far. The only reaction from Peter was a slight move of the edge of his mouth, forming a faint half-smile.

Up in the Lounge, Ketonna was too busy giggling and applauding to notice his men's reaction. Gaping, and with slight amazement, Lee was still trying to assimilate the events from the past minute. Jake was staring blankly, with a certain what-just-happened look.

At last Lee just smirked and checked on the room. It was inevitable to notice that Hudson was the only other person there who didn't find Peter's, or to be more precise Collin Keenan's performance so amusing; he was rather stunned. Their eyes met and Jake anxiously started clapping and laughing along with the rest. Lee didn't say anything. He only returned his attention back to the arena and the next fight; nobody saw his sneaky grin.

Whenever possible, the tall Chinese had to find out more about whatever connection there was between the imprisoned fighter and the new-comer. For now it was intriguing enough to know that at least one more person other than himself knew Peter Caine.

**XXX**


	5. The Arena

The Arena

Peter was escorted back to his room. He never asked why they didn't allow him to see the rest of the fights. He also never doubted that his stuff would have been tampered with.

At first glance everything was as he had left it, apart from the small details. The airport tag on his bag was on the handle facing the door when he left. Now it was facing the window. The book he had taken with him, which was still inside the bag, he had left slightly tilted on top of some clothes. Now he found it perfectly flat. His clothes were lying diligently folded on the bed. Peter _never_ folded his clothes to such perfection.

Peter grinned and hid in the bathroom. He had many proofs of his fake identity with him but he had been smart enough to hide them well, apparently smarter than the brainless amateurs that worked for Ketonna. He left the toilet water running and hid under the shower. There, under the falling cool stream, he allowed himself a silent groan as he leaned hands against the wall. His first one hour here had drained him, more than he expected. Controlling his emotions turned far more difficult than it had been back home. As the foam from the sea-salt soap covered his tired body, Peter reflected. He had been very close to blowing everything the moment he saw Jake. He was so relieved to find him alive, that that nearly failed him. The young fighter had gained some mass but as a whole he hadn't changed that much.

For one thing he was certain – this evening was merely the beginning, the taster to everything that Peter would have to go through. At least he had nothing to lose… nothing, but his miserable, solitary life. What he left behind was a father who didn't care, a Master who had been lying to him all his life, and a friend who was trying to juggle between Peter's problems and his own tentative attempts to start a family. Now because of the nature of their mission's he couldn't count even on his friend.

Yes, maintaining that dark, expressionless face shouldn't be much of a problem.

Before leaving the bathroom Peter checked the make-up on his forearms. The fake skin was well glued and from afar it really resembled severe burns. He decided not to cover it when he was indoors, out of fear his voyeurs might find it suspicious. So the priest put a t-shirt and the down part of a deep-blue cotton gi.

Back in the room Peter checked on his room service. He had found the dining table served; there was even wine and truffles with cream. He had no idea whether all new-comers were treated like that, or it was courtesy to his fight tonight. In any case, Peter had to admit he was starving, and since no bad vibes were coming from the food, he sat by the table and hungrily attacked.

**X**

_June 7_

Peter slept well. Half of that night he meditated but sleep or meditation, it mattered little, as long as it brought him the so needed rest and energy. Eleven o'clock, he had been told, was the beginning of today's fights. What time he was supposed to be on the ring was a mystery, so he decided to 10:30.

At about 9:30 Jake dropped by with the breakfast. Peter was freshly out of the bathroom, and the warm food was like by an order. Now, there was a good use of the camera in his room.

**X**

'Did you sleep well, Campos?'

'As good as ever, sir.'

'What do you have for me?'

Ketonna was hidden behind a table full of incredible range of food, equally well suited for breakfast and a feast, meals ranging from cereals and bacon to lobster and cheesecake.

The mob boss cleaned oily hands on a wet napkin and took the file his employee had collected.

'Only three photos?'

'It's one of the things about Keenan, nobody really knows how he looks like.'

'So, do you think he's planning to go out of business? Quite a few people will see how he looks like.'

'I can't tell sir.'

Ketonna sneered and read through.

'It says he's in business for 15 years. Isn't he way too… young?'

'According to my information he became killer for hire after he killed one of the supervisors in his orphanage.'

'No family, ha…'

'Nope. No siblings, no extended relatives, no wife…'

Ketonna got a serious look and checked the photos. Two of them were with the man he saw yesterday, the third – of a completely different person, approximately the same age, heavier and with far less attractive features. But photos were easily forged, as the criminal knew all too well. He didn't take them seriously. Instead he left the folder aside and kept drinking his coffee in silence.

'Lee, who is Hao fighting first today?'

'A karate black belt from LA.'

'May he rest in peace.'

Lee didn't say anything but his expression betrayed his disgust. Hao was too perverted even for someone like him, a man living on the other side of the law since his pre-teens.

'Let's give Mr Keenan a fresh start of the day. Put him against the taekwondo fighter from Estonia.'

Lee giggled at the idea. 'With pleasure.'

Jonni Lehkinnen was a mean little thing, and Lee was utterly curious how a hot-shot like Caine would handle him.

A little old man with burned face entered the room. Ketonna sighed with bored air.

'Well, gentlemen, time to face the music.'

**X**

A wide electronic chart at one end of the hall had the list with the upcoming fights. Next to it was the long list with the rankings. On top was Don Hao. Peter was amused to read on the list nick-names as well as real names. He was written as C4, and a bit above him he read names such as Whip and Thunder Fist.

Peter was taken to a seat on the second row to the left of the Arena. He sat with a grin, realising where Kermit had positioned himself, and that they were only few rows from each other. The thought that Kermit was there Peter found calming. He wasn't _that_ alone.

A gong announced the beginning of the day. It was the signal that Senor Ketonna was in his lounge, and after all, no fight could commence without him watching.

The first fight was between a Spanish judoka and an Israeli krav maga specialist. The latter was third in the rankings and not by accident. Despite the similarities in the two martial arts, the judoka was down after two minutes, when the krav maga master jumped on his shoulders. It was the last thing the Spaniard remembered when he woke up in the ER an hour later.

The next fight was the first time Peter saw Don Hao. When the two opponents appeared on the arena, first he noticed the pure fear in the karateka's eyes, a Simon-somebody. Next thing was Hao's ring, and the man himself. He had no top, just a pair of light gi and snickers, so the ring stood out. It was the disgustingly familiar silver ring with a tiger head, the ring of the Sing Wah. For once, Peter thought, he wished he would work on an operation and not encounter them. As for the ring's owner, he was imposing enough as it was.

Hao was tall and muscular, half Chinese, with thick lips, wide nose and short black hair. At first sight he appeared heavy and not flexible but that was a cruel deception. He was fast enough to challenge even a Shaolin, and strong enough… to kill a Shaolin. Peter saw that during the fight with the black belt.

There was no doubt about the man's skill but in comparison to him Don Hao was a whole other species. The fight lasted long enough for the audience to appreciate Hao's dominance. On the third minute the black belt found himself to the side of Hao, sending a punch at his head. Hao caught the flying fist midways and twisted it along with the whole arm. The sound of cracking bone and the karateka's cry of pain didn't impress the Sing Wah fighter. He twisted further and his knee found the karateka's spine, breaking its connection with the lower back.

With nothing else left for him there, Hao looked around and sneered madly at the audience. They applauded, of fear or fascination or both alike, they applauded.

Peter was appalled. What purpose did it serve to cripple an innocent man? He, like the others, had come here to fight, earn money or glory, whatever. Why this harm? He bent head and closed eyes; there was nothing he could do. Never in his life had Peter Caine been able to observe others suffer without doing something about it, and now he _had_ to sit and watch others die, or get crippled for life, without doing anything. For, he was certain, there would be more.

**X**

About an hour after the beginning of the first official day of Thomas Ketonna's tournament, it was Peter's first fight, or to be more precise, C4's first fight.

Up in the lounge Ketonna was having lunch. Surrounded with his commanders the crime lord had invited two of the younger cadets, Strickland and Hudson. Strickland had come second in the same year as Jake; he actually won a battle at the finals against him. One of the reasons why the two had become friends afterwards, other than being in the same hellhole together, was Jake's respect for one of the few fighters who had ever beaten him.

The next fight was due in two minutes and Lehkinnen and C4 were headed for the ring. In the lounge Ketonna heard his Chief of Security's sneer.

'You don't like this guy, do you?'

'Nah… Well… He's too self-confident,' hissed Lee at last.

'Self-confidence is a key to survival around here, Mr Lee,' said Ketonna and grinned contently.

Peter's opponent was not taller than 1.75 but his agility and flexibility made up for the difference. Peter looked much heavier next to him, and his firm grounded stance somehow maintained that impression.

The gong rang. Expectedly the taekwondo champion was pretty good with his legs and put them into use almost immediately. Peter preferred to remain passive, yet again, and decided to try his luck and lure an opponent into a trap once more.

He made step backwards and, at least it seemed so from afar, staggered like a drunken man. Lehkinnen used the gap, and since Peter was too far he attacked with a flying kick. What followed nobody expected. Peter took a large step forward, bent to the right and stretched his left arm. In perfect timing it met the attacker still in the air and hooked his back leg; he fell heavily. At once Peter kneeled and sent him to sleep with a palm pressed on his solar plexus.

Ketonna jumped in his chair, completely unimpressed by the deafening cheer of the crowd. He looked at Lee and mumbled annoyed, 'Close your mouth, Lee!'

David Lee was taken totally by surprise. What Peter Caine had just demonstrated was such a supreme control of mind over body that it took him only two moves, two precise moves, to knock down his opponent, a taekwondo champion, for crying out loud. Since when can Peter Caine fight like that? The answer came with the question, so Lee just pushed it away and peeked at Hudson. Again the two men found themselves the only ones in the room being totally shocked by C4's display, only this time their boss wasn't that excited either.

'How long was the fight, Campos?'

'Twenty-five seconds.'

'Wha.. Who… who is this guy, Sudden death? Who do I have to pair him with just make him sweat?!'

He was knocking nervously on the table. He had just witnessed a remarkable self-control display and that frightened him. He needed to see Keenan challenged, to find his strong and weak points, and simply to know he was a human. Such self-control he had seen before, in his nightmares, and it scared the days out of him.

**X**

The fights recommenced after a short lunch break. The hall was more crowded than ever. And the loud group of Mexicans was back, too, ever accompanied by their new friend Jorge. They put some money for Hao and for the krav maga master, but even their enthusiasm had been silenced by the performance of the new guy, Collin Keenan.

The mercenary was back to his seat, alert and serious. He pretended he didn't notice the numerous pairs of eyes that were following every move he made. The enigmatic stranger needed only two matches to enter the Top 10, in less than 24 hours. That, and the fact that he achieved it without any actual attempts to fight, quickly made him the audience's new darling.

But all Peter cared for was making it to the Island.

**X**

The next pair of opponents climbed the arena. One was a tall Asian, from Korea or Thailand, with lanky frame and impressive muscular arms. The other… he had shaved head, same tall, lanky structure, and wore nothing but saffron coloured trousers. He was a Shaolin!

Peter was shocked. Why would a Shaolin come here? Well, the rhetorical question kind of answered itself but Peter's circumstances were different. The man on the ring was obviously coming straight from the temple; his head was still completely bald. And he had no brands. His belonging to the order of Shaolin was still evident but he wasn't a fully-fledged priest. Peter determined he must've been in his early to mid-twenties. He felt a bit embarrassed because the man on the ring didn't impress as someone who had had 15 years gap in his training. The branded Shaolin was almost certain that they were at approximately the same level.

Only as the fight began did Peter take a better look at the other fighter. He had a scorpion tattoo on his right arm.

Oh, not them, too!

The priest frowned and nested on his seat, crossing arms. This fight should be able to answer a few questions…

As a rule, Scorpion fighters didn't count on their impeccable defence immediately. At first they tested their opponents, tried them, checked if they could achieve victory counting on their fighting alone. During the first three minutes the Scorpion, Lu Hai, did just that. Well aware what he was facing he was both defence and attack, but cautious. Besides, even if he wanted something more, he couldn't. The young Shaolin, Sun Wei, was too fast for anything more exciting to happen.

Unfortunately, Sun Wei was also too inexperienced, and it showed. Of course Peter supported his brother in order, at the same time secretly hoping that they should never have to face each other on the ring.

The Shaolin trainee started attacking more intensely. But Shaolin priests are not big on attacks, and the Scorpion took full advantage. He had no chance against Sun Wei's supreme kung fu, just like Sun Wei had no chance against Lu Hai's defence. He lifted right arm, resembling a scorpion preparing its deadly sting. That confused the Shaolin; he had no other choice but to continue fighting the way he knew. No matter how fast he was, Lu Hai was like an impregnable fortress. He, on the other hand, tried to attack, too, but the young student was equally difficult to get to.

It was obvious that both men were trained in Shaolin kung fu, the one being too young, the other – too slow. Sun Wei was about to attempt another strategy when the gong signalled the end of the seven minutes. There weren't many fights that ended with draw. The fighters were disappointed, the audience – grateful that they'd enjoy more of their outstanding martial arts.

Sun Wei greeted his opponent with the fist and the palm. The Scorpion only nodded with resentment and the two men left the ring.

The young Shaolin returned to his seat, almost opposite Peter. Their eyes met. Barely noticeable Peter nodded, expressing his admiration for the Shaolin's skill. Taught to respect others and be humble, Sun Wei responded with the same gesture and moved head away. He already felt… something, he didn't know what, and preferred not to look at the unknown fighter. He had seen both of C4's matches. Though the man hadn't demonstrated much fighting, his self-composure and discipline reminded someone with great experience and dedication. They reminded a Shaolin.

**X**

By the late afternoon quite a few fighters had ended their participation in the tournament. Hao killed for the second or third time, now a capoeira fighter from Brazil. The Shaolin eliminated a fighter from New York, who until that day considered himself a master of kung fu. In the meantime a few women fought, too; only one, a Norwegian jiu-jitsu champion, made it to the next day.

A slight excitement was rising in Peter's chest. His next fight had been announced, and, for better or for worse, it was against the very Scorpion his brother Shaolin didn't manage to beat. Peter had concluded that this particular member of the Scorpion sect was a completely different level from the amateurs he had faced three years ago. Fortunately, so was Peter.

The preliminary gong was the signal for the next pair of opponents to come to the arena. The confident Scorpion practically jumped on the ring, disregarding the stairs he would otherwise use. His intimidating strategy worked only on the audience which applauded and whistled; Peter was not the least moved. Slowly he climbed the stairs on his side of the ring.

As he was taking the few steps a strange shiver ran through his body. He grew painfully aware of his surroundings and he started perceiving everything in slow motion. The audience felt distant; the cheers sounded like coming from miles away. Peter felt Kermit's supportive look wishing him a numb 'good luck'. With the edge of his eyes he felt the same supportive look from the young Shaolin and then he felt the weight of another gaze from the left side.

As he was making his first steps on the arena he looked. Closer to the middle of the seats, on the side where his own place was, he saw them. He didn't see the face, he took no notice of the owner; he felt only the look. A pair of eyes as black as the Universe was following every move he made. The look was soft and warming, yet it was so powerful it made all other staring pairs of eyes diminish. Peter then blinked and his mind returned to the arena in the here and the now.

Two minutes after the first gong, the second one announced the beginning of the fight. The Scorpion was quite aggressive this time, as he knew it wasn't a Shaolin he was dealing with. Well, that's what he thought, poor thing. Peter wasn't impressed even by the fact that his opponent was fourth in the current rankings. But it was about time he started fighting.

Since Thomas Ketonna was very wary of Shaolin priests, Peter knew long before he even set foot on the Arena that he wasn't to use the 'classic' kung fu. His technique shouldn't stand out, so now he simply took a bow stance and prepared his hands.

The Scorpion attacked with a series of three consecutive destructive punches in the face and the stomach; Peter masterfully parried them all. Stunned for a moment Lu Hai took a step back and the two seconds he took to think of another strategy Peter used to attack. He sent a divertive punch at Hai's face which, of course, he easily blocked, but simultaneously a leg sneaked behind his knee, and the Scorpion found himself on the ground. He was very fast, however, and quickly escaped Peter's attempt to knock him out.

It was within the first minute that Lu Hai opened his 'sting' with a contempt grin. He started moving threateningly around Peter when the priest lifted his arm, too, and the Scorpion found himself opposite the mirror image of his own fighting style. The grin changed with shock.

Up in the Lounge Ketonna was on his feet. _That_ he didn't expect. Next to him Lee was amazed; Jake had frozen with mouth half-open. The audience was bewildered; even Jorge and the jolly gringos were humbled.

Up until now the Scorpion had seemed invincible. But no more.

Lu Hai's confusion was threatening to switch to panic. He shifted hands, crossed legs faster and faster, in vain; C4 mimicked exactly. After another shift the Scorpion attempted an impossibly fast attack with his lower arm, and this was his end.

Peter caught the arm way before it reached his stomach. He pulled, and a cannonade of attacks followed. A slap in the face, the Scorpion staggered backwards; another slap in the face, punch in the stomach immediately followed by a punch in the chin, and finally close to the edge of the ring – a kick in the stomach.

Lu Hai practically flew off the platform and landed in the feet of the closest sitting fighters.

It took two minutes and a half.

Peter nodded, and vainly took a second or two to enjoy the crowd's cheer. He would have been pleased to see Ketonna relaxing shocked in his chair, or his old 'friend' Lee's astonished gaze. The audience loved him. The jolly gringos and their new friend were louder than ever; they shouted, laughed and greeted each other. But Peter ignored them. With his slightly bent head he caught again the encompassing black eyes, and felt his stomach swerve. He looked ahead and met another look, Sun Wei's respectful and slightly shocked gaze. Peter had just beaten a fighter that even a Shaolin trainee couldn't defeat. This time his nod was deeper, as was Sun Wei's. The two men had come to a mutual understanding without words.

Meanwhile Ketonna was steaming. He had been so convinced in Lu Hai's dominance that he was ready with a proposal for him before the tournament actually started.

'Campos, bring Keenan here. Now!'

**XXX**


	6. Destiny's Mysterious Ways

Destiny's Mysterious Ways

Before heading for his seat Peter was having refreshment, when he saw a slightly shorter but very well built Mexican coming his way.

'Collin Keenan…'

'That would be me,' replied Peter, as emotionless as he could.

'You've been invited at the Lounge.'

Peter decided the wisest thing to do was not to ask questions.

'So, let's go.'

Campos made sign for Peter to follow him, and the two men left the arena, where the next fight was about to begin.

Kermit was sipping his tequila and hiding behind black sun glasses, but he observed everything. The blood drained from his face when he saw Peter leaving with one of Ketonna's men. Just like his friend, Kermit's hands were tied. There was nothing he could do but passively observe what could be Peter's death sentence. Something like this had been expected, yet he secretly wished they'd never go this far; that Peter would go through his fights unnoticed and would peacefully qualify for the Island.

But Peter Caine is hard to remain unnoticed.

Kermit took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was praying.

**X**

They passed several guards and went behind the seats; then they started climbing wooden staircase, quickly built specially for the occasion. Again Peter was surprised by his own calmness but it wasn't due to his training. No, it was acceptance. Before even stepping in the plane he knew that this was a no-going-back mission. Right now he was perfectly aware that once going up these stairs he may never go down. And he accepted.

The place was dimly lit and with a purpose. Two guards were by the door that led to the actual lounge. Campos nodded, and one of them opened. Inside Peter saw monitors showing different angles of the ring, as well as a broad opening with a front view of the ring. Ketonna's seat was a level higher and very much like a throne, so the crime boss had a perfect view to the whole Arena.

From the beginning Peter had known that there was zero per cent chance to go to such a place and _not_ meet a known face. He saw him, right by Ketonna's side. Lee's sly smile made no impression on Peter, however; after all, it could have been worse, right? Briefly he took note of the other men in the room, including a very scared Jake Hudson, and stood in front of Ketonna, completely unmoved.

'Well, Mr Keenan, welcome to Mexico, sir!'

'Thank you… Senor Ketonna, right?'

'Quite right,' answered the criminal with an oily grin. 'It's a…. ha, it's quite a display you're demonstrating over there.'

'Just a day on the job.'

Ketonna laughed. 'Of course it is… I take you're acquainted with the Scorpions?'

'We've met before.'

'There aren't many who've _met_ Scorpions, and lived long enough to tell about it.'

'What do you want to know? I'll tell you.'

Peter's wit and his cool behaviour fascinated the mob boss even more.

'Well…' He giggled. 'Perhaps we can have an informal chat over a tequila some evening.'

'Is this chat formal?' asked Peter innocently.

Ketonna nested in his chair. 'Absolutely not.'

He took the 'C4' folder Campos had gathered for him. Peter stared somewhere above the crime lord, resisting the temptation to return Lee's examining look. The Chief of security was impressed, he couldn't deny that. Caine's undercover performance was outstanding, especially compared to the first time they've been acquainted. Not that he was that bad five and a half years ago, but the immature arrogance he demonstrated back then had nothing to do with his impressive self-control now.

'So… I understand you started 15 years ago.'

'Sixteen.'

'Really?'

'You should check you sources, sir.'

'What did you do?'

Peter shrugged. 'Found some friends, exchanged some… powder sugar between them. One became redundant; I… helped solve the issue.'

'All that before or after the orphanage?'

'During.'

'You must have had a chip or two on your shoulder,' said Ketonna, enjoying the conversation more and more.

'A mile long,' said Peter with foggy eyes. 'Even so they couldn't handle me,' he added proudly.

'What about the supervisor?'

'He liked spending time with the boys… tête-a-tête. His mistake was that he tried me, too.'

'You seem to have liked it, I hear.'

Peter grinned. 'Who said I didn't?'

While the two men laughed, Jake's confusion was growing while Lee was plainly disgusted. Wasn't Caine going too far with the show?

Peter was really getting into the role, and to a degree it was thanks to Kermit's proactive thinking. The ex-mercenary had chosen very carefully the fake identity for his friend. Keenan had been the best option, undoubtedly due to the similar fate he and Peter shared. The Shaolin himself approved of the choice. Moreover, it gave him a very good insight at how his life might have turned had it not been for Paul Blaisdell.

Ketonna closed the folder and took a sip from his tequila cocktail.

'Do you know what the funny part is?'

'I'm sure you'll tell me.'

'All of my sources claim that you were killed somewhere in China.'

Peter leaned closer to the mobster causing the soldiers in the room to stir. Ketonna made them sign to stay put and leaned towards Peter in return.

Peter whispered, 'Mr Ketonna, I don't think you've come where you are by believing rumours…'

Ketonna smiled and calmly relaxed in his chair. 'That's true.'

'Lee, see Mr Keenan back to his seat. … Mr Keenan, that's Lee, my Chief of Security.'

Peter stretched hand.

'Nice to meet you, Mr… Lee.'

'Pleasure, Mr… Keenan, was it?' added Lee and winked at Peter.

The two men left.

Lee waited for them to pass the last two guards before the seats area.

'You're crazy to come here, Caine,' he said in a low voice.

'Not crazier than you to pick yet another mad employer… Chan.'

They stared at each other and Chan started pointing with finger different spots in the area making him look like he was explaining something.

'I have my reasons.'

'So do I.'

'I can turn you in at any moment,' he said without looking at Peter.

'But you won't.'

Now Chan _had_ to look at Peter.

'You're awfully secure.'

'You need me. Whatever it is you're here for, things have gone wrong, and you need help. I can provide that help.'

Chan started heading back for the Lounge. This sagacity was expected from Kwai Chang Caine, but that Peter should read through him with such ease was a new twenty.

'Go back to your seat.'

**X**

Kermit almost ripped in the air when he saw Peter coming back. Of course the excitement died the next second when he saw the man who was with him. Chan! Peter was alive, obviously returning to his seat, but Chan was there. God, it had been years since Kermit last heard of the vermin. He wanted to hunt him down after Li Sung's tournament as a revenge for Caine's earlier kidnapping, but Peter stopped him; Kermit never understood why. For now he had to resort on being just an invisible face in the crowd… and keep praying.

**X**

Ketonna welcomed his Chief of Security with suspicion.

'What was that all about?'

Chan sneered. 'The minx demanded to know how we decide who fights who.'

'What did you tell him?'

'That it's up to God.'

'Oh, thank you, Lee.'

'He's a self-confident jerk,' he commented visibly annoyed.

He crossed arms, his mind miles away from the events on the ring. Yes, he was here with a purpose. And yes, it had gone terribly wrong. For not only wouldn't he be able to do what he was here for, but he had no idea how to get himself out of there either.

**X**

_June 8_

He remained in bed until 9, perfectly aware that he was being watched. What he did was visualising. Despite the few places specially reserved for fighters to practice, there was no way he could do a proper training without being suspected. His preparation was one of a proper Shaolin, and those were being killed off here. So Peter lied with eyes closed and visualised - few forms, a sparring with an invisible partner, more form. Only if someone had checked his pulse rate would one have noticed the difference. Though being perfectly still, the body reacted like it was really training, and he even sweated a little.

Peter's perspiration had reduced drastically since he took the brands, much like his father's. But he'd better return to sweating like a simple mortal should, or he'd be in trouble.

As a matter of fact, Peter didn't even know why he bothered so much. There was no way out of here anyway. At least, there was nothing for him to go back to, even if he survived. Ah, yes, the kids. Right, the kids he had taken from the streets and from troubled homes, and who counted on him. And an awful lot of these troubled homes he had single-handed fixed and brought back to normal. But they didn't need him to live; they had been taught well. Peter had already planted the seed of hope and light within each of their young hearts; they'd be fine.

And he, back to betrayal and solitude? No, enough of that. The loneliness the father seemed to thrive on was no god for the son. Peter wasn't that strong, that wise. He was just a man, a simple man, a shadow to the great Shambhala Master.

A shame to the great Shambhala Master…

Peter gulped. He was sweating more intensely now, goal achieved. At least here he might redeem for being the failure he considered himself to be. He was going to dig as deep as possible, down to the depths of everything he had ever learned, to make this happen. He would give everything, including his useless life, to help the trapped fighters, to help Jake. Peter couldn't take it any longer - the loneliness, the way his Masters, a father and Lo Si… Ping Hai, whatever, trampled his fragile confidence. If what he'd achieved so far wasn't enough, then hell, it was never going to be enough. At least now he could be useful, and give all he had without sparing himself. There was nothing to live for, anyway.

A knock on the door put end to the psychic training… and torture. It was time for breakfast and another day of fighting which he was obliged to make through. Those men deserved their freedom; their families deserved to have them back.

Family… Six letters enough to hold all that was important in the world.

This day Peter wore sleeveless shirt, again black, and an even grimmer face. If his ever darkening gaze could kill, today everyone within a mile range from him would be dead.

**X**

The hall was noisy and stuffy. The giant circus tent, at least that was how it looked on the outside, had another world within itself. As soon as they entered, everyone forgot their existence and nothing else mattered but the fights.

The first fight for the day was between the Shaolin trainee and a wing chun master from Hong Kong. It offered a perfect opportunity to compare wing chun to the very martial art that it stemmed from. The Hong Kong fighter, Tan Ji, was fourth in the current ranking after the fallout of Lu Hai. Sun Wei, however, came second.

As a whole the fight looked like a violent instalment of 'Anything you can do, I can do better.' No matter how fast and agile Tan Ji was, the Shaolin was faster and better. Besides, Sun Wei worked equally well with both hands and feet, while a wing chun specialist used mostly his hands, which, though brutally strong, were not enough.

The fight was finished in about five minutes. Peter was astonished to see the relief in his brother by order. Whatever the reason for him being there, he thought, it had nothing to do with the money.

**X**

The next fight was all about nicknames. Peter regretted he had no popcorn and beer; that would have made the moment perfect.

The opponents were the new 4th, The Whip, and Thunder Fist, number 10. Thunder Fist, with real name Phil Talbot, was a heavy weight wrestler. He was massive, at least 1.95m and definitely above 100 kg. His one arm alone was thicker than his opponent's leg… After all, the opponent was a 'she'.

It was Peter's turn to be surprised. Talbot was facing a tall, slender Chinese woman with endless legs. She didn't seem much impressed by the heavy man and prepared for her fight. On the ranking list real names stood along with nicknames and she was called Sonya Sha. Peter wondered why she was called The Whip; Talbot's Thunder Fist was somewhat obvious.

Apparently Peter was the only shocked face from the audience. This was the first time he was going to see Sonya Sha fighting and he couldn't for the life of him imagine how she was to defeat, even to survive such a fight. Well, the answer manifested itself less than two minutes later.

Like a 'classic' wrestler, and a boxer, too, Talbot started sending trying fists at Sonya which she didn't even bother to block, much the way Peter did in his first two rounds. Instead, she aimed for the legs. After another attack from him, The Whip bent and stretched her leg between her opponent's feet. However while falling he managed to knock her down, and she lost balance. He grabbed her other leg and tried to pull it, but Sonya only twisted, placing herself face up, her free leg sharply wrapping itself like a snake around the man's neck, giving a hissing sound that much resembled a flying whip. The sound of cracking bones was the last noise that came from the ring.

Thunder Fist wasn't dead, just very badly knocked out. It took three men to drag him out of the arena. As Sonya was going down under the loud cheer from the audience, only for fraction of the second her gaze met Peter's. It was enough.

**X**

During the following fight, which was between Hao and a muai-thai boxer from L.A. and was a very short one, the next sequence of fights was silently announced on the chart. After that Peter found it very hard to observe the events on the ring; his first fight for the day had been announced, and now he was worried. It was either that the guys up in the Lounge were suspecting him, or they were desperate to get rid of him. His next opponent was Sun Wei, the Shaolin.

**X**

Peter climbed the arena with heavy steps and even heavier heart. It wasn't just the fear that he may lose the battle, but also the thought that his mission was too important, and he might need to cause serious injuries to his brother in order. And then, there was the _other thing_.

As the previous fight ended, there was a 15 minutes break to clean the ring from the blood (a usual habit after a fight of Hao's), and generally to give everyone a break. Peter used it to visit the bathroom. All of the cabins were busy, however, including those meant for the fighters, and he wasn't to be given a priority just because his fight was due.

'No relief out in the front, buddy,' had laughed at him one of the guards.

Peter didn't say anything. So he found himself a corner outside the huge tent and by the smell of it reckoned that many others before him have also found the number of WC too small. And that's how it happened that the call of nature set the faiths of two men down their intended paths.

Peter heard voices from within the tent, one was Chan.

'New orders from Ketonna.'

'Oh, what is it now? The sick creep….'

'I'd be more careful if I were you.'

'What, you resent him as much as any of us.'

'Then why don't you leave?'

Silence followed.

'What are the orders?'

'If the Shaolin wins his next fight, waste him.'

'Oh, boy, there we go.'

'Orders.'

'What has he done wrong?'

Chan sighed. 'Came here, that's what he did wrong.'

'So it's true… about Ketonna's paranoia?'

'Just do as you're told.'

'Clear.'

Peter heard another sigh and then steps that indicated the two men had gone back to their places. It was quite certain they didn't mean _him_. It all fit. He knew Ketonna killed Shaolin; apparently the reason why Sun Wei was still alive was because he wasn't branded yet. And it seemed like Ketonna had changed his mind… about something…

The responsibility on Peter's shoulders grew. He had to make sure he won his fight against the Shaolin… for the man's own safety. The irony of it...

Peter was so deep into his thoughts that he almost jumped at the sound of the gong; time was ticking, the fight had officially started.

Sun Wei greeted Peter in the Shaolin manner; Peter only nodded with contempt. Then the younger man took a stance, apparently from the praying mantis form, and calmly started circling around Peter. He did nothing. He only sighed and remained highly alert.

To the most, the sight of an approaching Shaolin would be quite horrific, but not if you know the style yourself, if you know its weaknesses and advantages. Peter skimmed through the forms during his training crash course two and a half years ago, but then back home together with his father he studied in depth each and every form, the animal ones included. And then with Lo Si, too…

Peter had to be the first to attack. He would be unsuccessful so he'd receive a mean fight back. He had to be the better one in his second attack then.

With his right hand Peter attacked, fairly slowly. The Shaolin caught it immediately, and twisted it so as to make Peter fall to his knees, causing him serious pain in the process. Pleasantly surprised with the success of his trap, Peter did as his opponent demanded. As he fell to his knee, like a lightning his free left arm stormed for the unprotected abdomen, and bit like a snake. Apparently unaccustomed to being hit Sun Wei released Peter and jumped giving a small cry in the process.

Retaining his iron calmness and aware that he had managed to get the Shaolin's full attention, slowly Peter got up and stared straight into Sun Wei's dark-brown eyes.

'Why are you here?'

The voice echoed so clearly in the younger man's head that he shook it like the annoyed dog shakes its head after a fist of air had blown it. Then he looked back completely stunned.

'Why are you here? Tell me!'

The voice was demanding and pleading at the same time.

The two men didn't stop moving. Far more cautious than before Sun Wei switched to tiger and waited. Peter had to remember what sort of a kung fu fighter he was back in the days when even Chan could take him, and took the clumsiest bow stance he could pull. From afar C4 looked like someone who had learned to fight last week.

Quickly Peter considered the lack of reply along with the style he was seeing, a clearly Southern style. So he switched to Cantonese.

**'Are you here to rescue someone? Please, tell me!'**

**'Yes,'** at last came the faint and quite reluctant reply.

It was quite evident the younger man had little idea what was happening; he was also quite astonished that he only had to _think_ the answer for Peter to hear him.

**'Who, then?'**

Everything else considered, Peter's psychic chat unnerved the young fighter. The branded Shaolin was more than pleased. Sun Wei attacked with hand and leg simultaneously; the hand flying at speed that made it almost invisible to the audience. Peter stepped to the side and blocked it easily but he didn't manage to jump over the leg as he intended, which threw him off balance. His opponent ceased the moment, and punched Peter to the back hoping to throw him to the ground. In order to avoid falling to his face Peter shifted the weight of his body to the upper part resulting in him doing a butterfly kick and hitting Sun Wei pretty bad on the head.

The audience, Kermit included, gasped. They were all well aware of what a Shaolin fighter was capable of and to see now one being laced like that was, to say the least, unexpected.

Up in the Lounge, bosses and soldiers alike were glued to their places; this time not just Jake and Chan, but everybody was equally amazed.

The moment he hit his opponent, Peter prayed that he hadn't hurt him. He really wanted to know the reason behind his tournament participation.

Sun Wei got up, slightly dizzy, spitting two teeth on the ring. But Peter didn't give him time to come to his senses. He had no time, anyway, there were less than 3 minutes left. He approached and sent two punched, one at the head, another at the stomach. The upper one obscured the dizzy fighter's view and he blocked just that, suddenly finding himself out of breath from Peter's thunderous blow. He fell to the ground but didn't give up. Instead, like a flash he swirled on one foot and low by the ground one of his legs swept under Peter, and then immediately got up afterwards.

The attack was a long shot, and Sun Wei should have stayed down. Peter jumped lightly high above the leg, higher than Sun Wei, and a flying kick found home in the young Shaolin's chest. He fell heavily, though not too hurt as he found C4's quick attacks somehow oddly lacking strength, like they weren't meant to injure.

It was up to Peter now. Sun Wei fell not far from the edge. Peter jumped on top of him like the predator jumps to its victim. He turned the younger man on his belly and practically sat on top of him. It wasn't that the block was very successful but Peter's ridiculously strong grip found Sun Wei completely incapable to respond. There were many gaps to attack, just none of his attempts worked. With all four limbs locked, neck caught in a steel grip, he was paralysed.

**'Who are you rescuing?'**

**'Who are you?'**

**'Why are you here, SunWei, you will tell me now!'**

**'My wife, it's my wife.'**

**'What's her name?**

**'Why?'**

**'If you go ahead with this, Ketonna will kill you, I can't allow that'**

**'I'm not branded yet'**

**'I heard his men talking; I can't allow your death. I mean you no harm, believe me!'**

Only then did Sun Wei feel the subtle heat coming from the forearm that was locked on his throat.

**'You… you are...'**

**'What's her name, boy?'**

**'Mai La, it's Mai La… Since last year…'**

**'That's all I need to know.'**

Peter could have knocked out the Shaolin fighter on the spot but this would mean to dishonour him, and his Master. So he softened his left hand and Sun Wei reacted, lashing free on the spot, making it look like he had tricked Peter. But both men knew this wasn't the case.

Completely in control of the situation and well aware of the remaining one minute, Peter rolled over and was ready to block the subsequent attack to the head. He blocked the kick and the double attack Sun Wei angrily sent at him, too, still remaining completely calm.

The Shaolin attacked like a snake now, only this time Peter responded. He grabbed the flying hand and pushed it to the side, giving himself space to hit the kidney. Sun Wei whimpered and was too late for the next attack, the outer side of Peter's hand which landed on his neck. He staggered and his vision blurred. He barely blocked the following kick and staggered further.

**'I'll bring her back to you, you have my word!'** was the last thing he heard before a much heavier kick found his thigh and then another punch hit his neck, knocking him temporarily unconscious.

It was spectacular and frightening at the same time. Peter's heart was crying; he felt the out-of-balance chi, and pleaded that his last punch hadn't been too strong. He really meant for Sun Wei to fall, not fall asleep. Then the gong announced the end of the fight. Twenty seconds, that's how much was left before a young Shaolin student was sent to his death sentence. Now he was to go home… hopefully.

A bucket of water was splashed on Sun Wei's face, and he was brought back to his feet. Semi-conscious, he looked devastated; he was ready to burst into tears, until a soothing voice boomed in his spinning head.

**'I said I'll bring her back to you, Sun Wei, trust me! Now, I beg you, leave here as soon as you can. Go! Please…'**

He turned and met Peter's remorseful gaze. Still up on the ring, Peter nodded and all Sun Wei could do was to release himself from the helping hands that were supporting him and show his respect to his opponent with the fist and the palm. In return Peter closed and opened his eyes.

While the Shaolin was leaving, the audience erupted. Though many of them had put money for Sun Wei, now they had a new favourite.

'El Luchador,' cheered the audience.

Peter lifter an eyebrow, and smiled.

The whole audience was applauding and cheering, especially Jorge's jolly gringos; they were on their feet and actually started a Mexican Wave.

'El Luchador! El Luchador!'

Peter shook head and chuckled. Knowing that he had done well, it slightly alleviated the guilt.

But then a new problem, an inevitable problem, occurred.

**X**

Up in the Lounge Ketonna was struggling to hide his panic. He no longer suspected C4 of being an undercover agent; it was far worse than that.

The tiny figure of an old man approached him. Ketonna leaned closer.

'Who… who can be stronger and faster than one Shaolin?'

The little man hissed, loud enough. '_Another _Shaolin.'

Jake and Chan turned abruptly. Their amazed eyes met and it was no longer a secret to either of them that in C4 they shared a common acquaintance. There was fear in Jake's eyes, refusal to accept the obvious. Chan was looking at him, silently asking 'Is that possible?' The thought, of course, hadn't evaded the two men. It had crept at the back of their minds almost from the beginning but they both discarded it as unlikely, almost improbable.

'Campos, Hudson, bring Keenan here!'

'But he's a Caucasian… Mercenary, for Lord's sake!'

Ketonna smiled. 'Robby, you've got to learn that everybody is a suspect, OK?' answered Ketonna very quietly, which, as everyone knew, was a warning of the most dangerous kind.

Campos gulped and nodded at Jake to follow him.

Peter was just getting off the ring when he saw Jake and the massive Mexican from yesterday come to him. There it was, the ultimate test; he had been waiting for them. Helplessly Kermit observed his friend taken away once more. Even he knew what was going to happen. The detective was praying to any deity he could think of.

**X**

'Time for tequila?'

'Not just yet.' Ketonna wasn't in a mood.

'Mr Keenan, I started this tournament as the improved extension of another one, run by a former business partner of mine.'

'Congratulations for the endeavour, sir,' replied Peter.

'I'm interested in attracting the best fighters I possibly can,' continued the mob boss without paying attention to the interruption.

This time Peter didn't say anything. He maintained his unreadable expression, and was surprised to discover that the attempt was getting easier by the minute.

'…And you, Mr Keenan, are either one of the best, or a big fat liar.'

'That's for you to find out,' said Peter with his body not moving a muscle. 'But I may accept your apologies later.'

Ketonna crossed legs and sank into the depths of his soft chair.

'I couldn't help noticing what great attention you pay to those armbands of yours. It's almost… subconscious, the way you fix them before and after each fight…'

Peter's face remained a stone but his heart was pounding. There it was, the first serious mistake he made, and it could cost him his life and the freedom of many men. He couldn't believe his stupidity, how did he allow his insecurity to go this far?

'Mr Lee?'

'Sir…'

'Why don't you help Mr Keenan get rid of these annoying arm bands?'

'With pleasure,' said Chan and approached Peter with nasty grin.

Slowly Peter untied the black cloth and soon both arm bands were on the floor. And then, it happened so that Thomas Ketonna's overt arrogance saved Peter, and sealed his own fate. OK, also Chan's goodwill helped. A lot!

Everyone saw the severe burns running along Keenan's forearms.

'Check them closely, Lee,' ordered Ketonna, only slightly peering from his seat. He was too important and powerful to get up and mess with the populace.

Chan grabbed the forearms. At first look they seemed burned, the make-up looked impressively real. But upon touching it was way too rubbery. Chan ran his thumbs along the scars, and then pressed. Peter made an expression of pain, acted or real, no matter, it had the intended effect. The two old acquaintances were staring intently at each other.

Unsuccessfully Chan was trying to find any traces of fear in the big hazel eyes before him. At last he stepped sideways, and lifted Peter's hands.

'They're burned; it's pretty ugly, sir.'

Ketonna focused eyes and relaxed.

'What happened?'

Peter sighed. It was time for C4 to show that he was human, too.

'Do we have to go through this?'

'We don't. But I gather you want to keep fighting? Or… living?'

Keenan looked nervous. He rubbed his nose.

'Brazil… The jungle… Two years ago…'

'A tribe?'

'I don't know what it was,' spat Keenan. He took a breath and continued in the previous calm manner. 'I didn't eat or drink three days. In the end they heated the chains… and let me go.'

'You were a hostage?'

'Considering it happened during a raid I was supposed to be part of, I gather, yes.'

'What else did they do?' Ketonna continued the interrogation, still not completely convinced. However Peter was well prepared.

'Let's say…' He smiled. '…it was in my benefit that I enjoy the touch of both sexes.'

A few of the men present made if obvious that they were about to puke.

'Oh, boy… You're quite something, Collin, aren't you?'

'Guess I am… Tomas.'

Grave silence reigned for a minute. Then Ketonna burst out laughing.

'Point taken, Mr Keenan, point taken. Ha!'

Jake nearly dropped his gun with relief.

'One last thing.'

Peter was casually holding his hands around his hips, craving the moment he'd be allowed to take his arm bands back.

'Your fighting… You've got style of a wuss, and skill enough to beat a Shaolin. How's that possible?

'Well, as a buddy once told me, the fancy moves won't save your butt out in the streets. As for the skill… You travel, you learn.'

'Ever been in a Shaolin temple?'

'Of course! I survived my rumoured death, didn't I?'

Ketonna grunted. A part of him was grateful that C4's story made sense; he'd love to have such fighter in his collection.

'All right… Mr Keenan, I may have a proposal for you…'

'Wait until I win the tournament. We'll talk business afterwards.'

Peter sensed he might have gone a little over the board with this self-confidence but he wanted to make sure everyone understood he had serious intentions. And he had proven so far he had the abilities to do it.

'Mr Lee… Show Mr Keenan back to the arena. He's not done yet.'

Anxiously Peter collected his arm-bands and they left. He wanted to thank Chan but it was too early to show weakness.

'I'll need you to do something for me.'

'I'm sure you will.'

'We'll talk when I escort you to your room.'

Peter examined his acquaintance briefly, and went to his seat. Even Chan had been impressed.

So far so good.

**X**

His heart was going to explode. And it was not fear…

He looked at the black eyes again, an again he got lost in their endless depths. Only this time they weren't shielding nor wishing well, this time they were attacking. Peter was fighting Sonya Sha, The Whip.

He was OK with it at first but once they faced each other on the ring his stomach turned upside down. Again. The woman opposite didn't have a drop of negative chi about her, not even greed or competitiveness. The feeling intrigued Peter.

The fight started but this time Peter was merciless. Few fast attacks and The Whip looked like she was ready to give up – a new mistake by Peter. He attacked simultaneously with hand and leg, convinced he was winning, but his opponent practically leapt in the air, and never landed. He only sensed the displacement of the air behind him and before he managed to react a heavy kick found his lower back. He barely waggled, though the pain was unbearable. Next Sonya meant to hit his neck, only this time Peter responded. Without turning he lifted his arm and caught the attacking hand in motion; he turned, twisted the naughty hand and pressed leg on the woman's body so that she couldn't attack from bellow. If this was one of Hao's fights, Sonya would die right now.

Then something unexpected happened.

**'Please, I have to continue,**' pleaded a quiet voice. In Mandarin…

'What makes you think I speak Chinese?' asked Peter in English.

**'You're a Shaolin, you should.'**

There was no response; the cold wave that ran down Peter's body couldn't be heard.

Peter tightened his grip making Sonya groan with pain from the strained muscles.

**'You're here to help, so am I, but I need to go to the Island. Please…'**

** 'Hit me in the shin.'**

**'What?'**

**'Kick. Now!'**

He loosened the press he made with his leg and a sharp kick followed. For a moment he feared she crippled him, the kick was mean.

Could he have misjudged?

Sonya turned and kicked, Peter blocked and immediately swept her other leg. She fell but had time just enough to send a whip-like kick at Peter's waist, which, to her dismay, he caught in motion, kneeling on the ground and practically locking her both legs in a steel grip.

**'So what now?'**

**'I didn't lie.'** She was looking him in the eyes

**'I thought we were friends,'** said Peter with a barely visible smile. He responded to her look.

**'I can't hurt you, no matter what I do; at least I can practice.'** She blushed, but it must have been from the adrenaline. Of course it was the adrenaline

**'So, that's the plan for the next three minutes?'** With horror Peter realised he was completely unable to move away from the engulfing black eyes.

**'That's what I hope,' **she answered. Now he blushed, too.

Peter loosened his grip and Sonya kicked him in the chest. He fell and spun managing to get up just on time. The two fighters were circling each other like hungry tigers.

Sonya's long legs never let Peter come close.

Peter never really tried to come close.

They were only prowling after each other, observing. Peter just wished his heart would stop skipping a beat each time their eyes met…

Finally The Whip attempted an attack with both hands which Peter parried with one and used the other to grab the woman's neck and bring her close to him. The contact sent electricity down both bodies. Sonya hit him with an elbow in the stomach but he only groaned, silently not minding the pain. They were by the edge and just when Peter leaned the slender body on top of it, the gong announced the end of the fight.

The audience had been pleased with what they saw, puzzled, but pleased.

Kermit was somehow bewildered, wondering what the kid was up to.

In the Lounge Ketonna was silent.

'Should I bring him here, sir,' asked Chan.

'Nah, let them be. She's hot, he might want to get laid.'

Chan grinned, and didn't raise the question again.

The truth was, Peter _did_ leave Sonya Sha win, and even he wasn't aware yet of the importance of his decision.

**XXX**


	7. Clash of the Titans

Clash of the Titans

_June 9_

That morning Peter allowed himself another lie-in, but not to do a 'visualised' workout. He needed to reflect; too much had happened yesterday.

His day ended with the 'favour' he was to do for Chan. The gangster had escorted him to his room, telling he was to challenge a young muai-thai boxer from Bronx, Donnie Chan. Sure, all right, Peter could do that, he could fight Chan's brother. It was a pleasant discovery to know that Chan cared for somebody in this world after all. Moreover, that he had been through all the trouble with change of identity and s.o. just to come here and save his little bro… that was just touching.

Peter was hoping he had made a step towards attracting Chan to his side, too.

'And after we take care of your lil' bro, we concentrate on the bigger picture,' he had said.

'What's that?' Chan was genuinely baffled.

'How to get _us_ out of here.'

And so they parted. Peter had seen enough to know that Chan was a prisoner as much as Jake and the others; he had to use that.

Peter's thoughts drifted to more pleasant images. Sonya… He couldn't figure out how she made him, and if she knew he was a Shaolin, wouldn't everybody else know? But that wasn't the problem. The young priest felt insecure. Since he received the brands he got used to being in control of his emotions and… well, of his hormones, too.

What happened yesterday? Peter gambled. He decided to trust a complete stranger, even if it was a stranger with the most mesmerising eyes he had ever beheld. Peter only wished he knew if the good feeling he had about her was due to his Shaolin training, or due to the thirsty body that hadn't felt the touch of a woman for more than a year now.

**X**

In order to challenge, a fighter shouldn't have been assigned a fight yet. Peter had to hurry. As soon as the first fight for the day was over, a French savate champion got laced by the krav maga fighter, Peter headed for the stairs. The arena had two sets of stairs at each end, and red flags with a metallic lightning symbol at the end were hanging around those stairs. They were the 'challenging' flags. Peter took one and quietly headed for the opposite seats area where Donnie Chan was sitting. The thing was, a challenged fighter couldn't back off; he had to fight his challenger. Just when in the most courteous manner Peter was handing the flag to Chan, the next two fights were announced, one of them facing Donnie vs. Hao. The young martial artist got up and bowed to Peter as a sign of respect, also gratitude. C4 didn't kill, but Hao did.

Whoever was responsible for the chart had to work fast. A minute later the list was changed and now Donnie Chan was announced to fight C4.

**X**

The turn of events was a bit of a surprise. Donnie Chan was a young, talented martial artist. He wasn't even in the top 10, though. At present Colin Keenan took the second place. Almost from the very beginning he established himself as one of the big names there and it was only to be expected that he should face other big names. What was the ex-mercenary to do with an amateur from Bronx?

The kid was quick and feisty. Peter wanted to do as little damage as possible but the younger Chan made it very hard for him to do so. Yet, at the second minute, Peter saw the gap. Donnie attacked with a front kick, Peter weaved around his body and found himself behind the younger man. Then he simply pulled a shoulder, pressed at the base of the neck and it was over. Neat and clean. Donnie would wake up in his room and before the end of the day he'd be on his way home.

Up in the Lounge David Chan spent unnaturally long time in front of his monitors in an attempt simply to settle the overflow of relief and gratitude that was bombarding him.

Ketonna was annoyed but even he had to stay put. These were his rules, right? Yet, Keenan deserved a punishment and Ketonna wanted some blood. He had spotted an obvious weakness with Keenan and by taking away from him the only thing he had expressed any attachment to, he'd satisfy all of his cravings… for the moment, that is.

**X**

On the arena Don Hao was fighting a specialist in jeet kune do from Beijing. The man lasted whole four minutes but even Bruce Lee's fighting style wasn't good enough. In the end he was lingering semi-conscious in Hao's grip. Though the fight was over, Hao didn't stop. He strained his hand, waved and slapped his opponent on the head; the neck twisted to almost 180o.

_Now_ the fight was truly over.

Along with many others, Peter turned head as what he feared most became true. Another killing, another meaningless death by the hands of a madman whom either nobody wished to stop or nobody could stop.

At that moment Peter knew that he would fight Hao. It suddenly seemed not just inevitable, it felt logical. So far Peter's performance surpassed his wildest dreams. He managed to look confident and had made everyone believe that he put barely any effort in his fights. In fact he was on his edge, physically and emotionally. But the young Shaolin's mind was working on auto-pilot now. Emotions were well under control and any kind of thoughts about the world outside this little Mexican village had been cast to the deepest corners of his doomed soul.

How was he to defeat Hao, if at all? He was either going to defeat him, or die, because draw wasn't an option, not against this man. Hao's moves reminded someone who has been doing martial arts all his life, without the fifteen-year gap. He was using mixed style, not just Sing Wah kung fu; Hao's fighting was superb, a class or even two above Peter's.

The next fight had begun but he remained oblivious. Peter reflected on his fighting. He had made an amazing progress that year and a half. His moves were not worse than those of any monk that had spent his entire life in a temple. He remembered the young disciple; he had been exceptional. Peter marvelled his technique and absolutely perfect moves.

Wait a minute…

Suddenly it occurred to Peter that the young Shaolin also had a technique superior to his own; his kung fu was undoubtedly better than Peter's. Then… then how did he defeat him? Peter recalled their fight. Absently he was staring through the events on the ring when he saw it.

As a Shaolin priest Peter possessed great abilities but there was no use of stuff like the Hand of Thousand Bells here. What he _could_ use, however, were the other skills that allowed him to master the Hand of Thousand Bells in the first place.

One was speed. Peter was fast, very fast. He also had remarkable physical strength which, when channelled properly, could make his strikes devastating. In addition, he could count on his senses which were not worse than those of a wild animal. Peter could feel the displacement of the air from the other end of a wide hall, a life-saving skill, especially when it came to attacks from the back.

He concentrated. All this time he counted so much on his fighting as a whole that he allowed to take the abilities that made it so efficient for granted. Still looking through the fighters on the ring, Peter got the familiar feeling of everything moving in slow motion.

Opposite people were going out. One of Ketonna's guards hit a tiny matt-skinned man. Without moving he felt behind him a group of two… no, three men and a woman who came in. One of the men had fever; the woman had cramps. An old lady coughed and swore at the fighters. A couple kissed. Drops of blood were splashed on the ring. A fly buzzed somewhere above him.

Peter became one with the room and one with himself.

Now everything was in his hands.

**X**

Ten minutes later Destiny's dice had been cast.

The chart announced the next fight - Hao vs. the Whip.

Peter's blood froze. So _that_ was Ketonna's punishment for yesterday. Suppressing the rising panic in his throat Peter was facing what he had elegantly avoided this morning. Something had happened on the ring yesterday and he had to come to terms with it _now_ if he were to do something.

Was it worth it? Was it necessary to risk it all, the mission and the fighters' freedom for… for one woman? Peter laughed at himself. Men had gone to war after asking themselves that same question.

Almost automatically he got up. His whole being was telling him this particular woman _had_ to live. He needed her, he… he had to know more of her. The realisation was painfully real. This was happening in the worst moment but, too late. The red flag was already in his hand. He was walking the lane between the ring and the front row. In the meantime the fight had finished; he didn't even hear when. But he heard the silence. And he heard the echo of his voice, the aggression resonating with it.

'Hao!'

Even the mosquitos' buzzing had been silenced.

Calmly Hao lifted head to see the tall figure of Collin Keenan. The red flag fell in the dust at his feet.

'You fight _me_!'

The challenge sounded more like an order. Peter hadn't the slightest intention in being as courteous as he was towards Chan. The gesture with throwing the flag on the ground was humiliating, and spoke very clearly of Collin Keenan's opinion of Don Hao. It wasn't good.

Slowly Hao bent and took the flag. Then he lifted the edge of his eyes towards his challenger and bowed.

**X**

'This is getting better and better,' uttered Ketonna with a pair of wide open eyes. The rest of the men in the Lounge were simply too stunned to comment any further.

Down by the ring a barking dog was the only sign of any life going on. Kermit wasn't breathing.

'What are you doing, kid?'

Everyone followed Peter as he returned to his seat. The fight with Hao was announced as the one to follow.

**X**

A small break was given for both fighters and audience. The arena was cleaned, refreshments were given away, and money was spent on one of the two big. This was undoubtedly the high point of the tournament. If the fight had happened few days ago, anyone with his right mind would have put money for Hao. Now, however, the stakes were almost equal.

Peter couldn't wait for it to be over. Seven minutes. Tops. That was how much he needed. In seven minutes he would seal his entry to the island, or in seven minutes he was to die. Ah, the magical symbolism of the number 7. He'd never doubt it again.

The gong rang. The countdown from 6:59 began.

There was no preying and stalking this time, Hao attacked immediately.

A simultaneous attack with both hands, a kick, three consecutive punches, another kick, and another. The attack was furious and deadly fast.

Peter blocked all attempts.

The Shaolin knew that Hao hardly expected to succeed with this attack, Peter was being tested.

After the first block of hits Hao took two seconds break. He wasn't breathing heavy but he was wet. Peter still looked like he'd been lying by the pool all day.

Peter came closer and Hao punched at the stomach. Peter blocked, punched him at the face and then kicked him at the stomach. He was just too fast. Hao lingered and looked slightly amazed; the attacks were practically invisible, so fast they were.

Hao grinned and started attacking again, this time with legs. The first attack Peter blocked; the second he welcomed by grabbing Hao's leg and that was his mistake. Briskly Hao pushed his trapped leg finding Peter's lungs. While the priest was still out of balance Hao made a butterfly kick and his other leg hit straight at Peter's head.

The drops of blood touched the floor moment before Peter did. Up in the Lounge Ketonna was grinning while down at the Arena Kermit was one step before the heart attack.

The room was spinning. Peter wasn't even noticing the pain. He tried to get up, and then felt himself being dragged by the hair. Next thing he sensed was the approaching hand aiming for his throat. It was coming from behind, displacing the air so furiously that he could hear it. Without turning, he couldn't anyway, he grabbed the sneaking arm with his right hand, twisting it; cracking bones and Hao's scream were the signal that he was still in the game.

Peter got up without letting Hao's hand, and kicked him in the stomach. However, still dizzy, he couldn't react on time when Hao's leg lifted and the Sing Wah fighter twisted on his back, first knocking Peter with one leg, then locking him into scissors grip with the second. Peter flew over and landed only centimetres from the arena's edge. He got up on time to welcome Hao, sending four or five fists, nobody counted, hitting his chest and face. Hao blocked two of them, they were again too fast for him. Hao lingered and as Peter came even closer he still managed to kick him in the stomach.

Both men were off balance but Hao recovered faster. With a low flying kick he found Peter's chest, landed and started another wave of fast attacks. The hits had the strength of steam hammer and Peter stopped blocking. He only took a deep breath and let Hao attack. He didn't even waggle… OK, just a bit perhaps, enough as not to make it obvious that he was doing the Iron Shirt. The amazed Hao roared, and started attacking with both hands. At the third attack Peter was the faster one. He caught his opponent's hands, and kicked the exposed body. Kindly he avoided the crotch so the stomach took the attack. The second kick was on the chest, and send Hao to his knees.

Just when Hao was about to get up, standing on one knee only, Peter went for a kick in the face. Hao locked the somehow too slow leg and before he realised he had fallen in his own trap it was too late. Using the support from Hao's iron lock, Peter transferred all his weight on the blocked leg and spun backwards in the air. On the way up his free leg found Hao's jaw and the other was released on the spot.

In the Lounge Ketonna froze; Chan held his breath and Jake had to cover his mouth with one hand in order to prevent himself from… from whatever sound a very surprised and somehow scared man makes.

Kermit was gaping.

The whole audience looked like a bunch of stone figures after a misfortunate meeting with Medusa.

Peter landed lightly and soundlessly to his feet. This was the moment to take Hao and he used it. The stunned man was still dealing with his dislocated jaw unaware of his exposed left leg. Peter couldn't resist the temptation. He used a brisk low kick. His body strained, the right leg landed sharply on the exposed knee, smashing it completely.

A horrific crow reached every corner of the Arena. At that moment Peter won the fight, but it was time for justice.

Peter lifted Hao to his good leg; he needed him to be straight so that his punches could land properly. Semi-conscious with pain, Hao helplessly saw a blur of fists landing on him. This time Peter decided to play it less Shaolin and more John Wane. Iron fists started bombarding Hao's stomach and chest until Peter's hands were all red from the blood that was already streaming freely from Hao's nose and mouth, covering his whole front. The Sing Wah man barely knew what was happening. By the expression in his eyes Peter could tell that he did understand the events, there was just nothing he could do.

At last Peter hit Hao to the ear and the until that moment invincible fighter fell like sack of rocks outside the ring. Peter was barely holding his rage; only his Shaolin self-control prevented him from jumping down there and finishing off the Sing Wah scum. Instead he turned and slowly walked towards the stairs.

In the Lounge Ketonna was motionless, Chan finally let that breath out and Jake allowed his numb hand to fall, still gaping.

The audience erupted.

'El Luchador! El Luchador…'

The second cheer was somehow half-mumbled and Peter stopped. He sensed movement from behind and turned. That self-control was slipping away very fast.

Hao was leaning on the edge of the arena, apparently attempting to climb back. With ever more darkening eyes Peter hurried, and kneeled beside him. He grabbed the right hand, the one with the ring on it, and pushed the four fingers backwards. Sound from crushed bones blended with yet another cry of pain. Then Peter pulled the silver ring. Next he put hand behind Hao's wet head and whispered, 'Sing Wah will never win!'

The final thing Peter did was to pull lightly back, and bang Hao's head onto the arena floor as strong as he could. Even Kermit felt for the murderer. The fighter dropped unconscious to the ground leaving an oily, bloody stain on the white ring floor.

Peter got up and looked around. There was unknown rage and fury in his eyes, it gave Kermit the goosebumps. Convinced that there must have been at least another Sing Wah member there, he held the ring high, and turned several arms, silently demonstrating what awaited any Sing Wah that should cross his path. Despite his own bruises and bleeding mouth the young priest looked intimidating.

Peter could sense many men with powerful chi present, which is probably why he couldn't sense the one he was looking for.

**X**

Up in the darkness, above the seats where Kermit's and Peter's places were, a black clad figure was lingering between dark and light. The sight of the tall man who just beat to a pulp Sing Wah's most promising fighter was one worth seeing.

'I'm proud of you, Peter,' he whispered.

Then a hand leaning on the guardrail, with silver ring with tiger head on it, slowly withdrew into the shadows.

**X**

'Sir?'

Campos was the first to come to his senses.

'J-just… just qualify him for the Finals and that's it.'

Ketonna wiped his wet forehead. He was afraid and he didn't want for his men to see that.

'Let him be, let him be, no undercover shit can fight like that. Don't let him come close to any of the other fighters or I'll remain with nobody to go the damn Island…'

'Yes, sir.'

**X**

The crowd was back to cheering and clapping. This time they were on their feet, El Luchador deserved it. The loud gringos and Jorge were bowing adoringly and hugging each other; they each had put money for Collin Keenan.

Meanwhile the name of C4 was moved to first place in the ranking and lit in green, opposing to the rest being written in red. Collin Keenan was the first to qualify for the Island.

Peter was walking towards the stairs now. This time he deliberately sought the big, black eyes. He was oddly relieved to see them smiling at him, nodding with gratitude. He nodded back and his grim face was released from its thunderous expression, just for a fraction of the second, but long enough for her to see.

**X**

_May 30, Central France_

'I'm really sorry, brother!'

'Do not be, we cannot change what is meant.'

'But are you sure, are you absolutely sure that Peter will be there, too?'

'He must be; it is his destiny.'

'Ahh, is this word the Caines' mantra, or…?'

'Everyone has a destiny. We simply… see ours a bit clearer than most.'

'So, when I took over Hao's training years ago, that was my destiny, too?'

'Yes.'

'If I had known… At that time I was still in the Brotherhood, I was eager to prove myself as a teacher… And he was a freaking good student…'

'A good student is the greatest compliment to a teacher.'

'I didn't teach him to fight with dishounour! I mean… not to kill anyone he touches, at least… I don't know what happened in the last year, I don't… I… I'm really sorry, K.C.!'

'Damon… please, there is nothing either of us can do…'

'I could…'

'You could not. If you stopped him, they would know you are no longer a Sing Wah; your life would be in danger.'

'My life means nothing.'

'It does, to our father… and to your brothers.'

'Then why do I have the feeling that the fragile balance we achieved over the last year would go to Hell in a week.'

'You are still going to have your family, whatever happens in Mexico.'

'I don't think so. … OK, I'd better go.'

'Would you not wait for Martin?'

'I may meet him on the way out. How is your work going?'

'Tomorrow I will leave to check another lead.'

'You _are_ tenacious…'

'A family trait.'

'I noticed… Well… I'll see you later, brother.'

'Yes.'

**XXX**

**END OF PART 1**


End file.
